Bittersweet
by Dazzleberry
Summary: I hate to say this is a sequel; it's the story to which Still Waters Run Deep is an extended prologue. A story of life, and the things we can't control, and the pain that comes with loving others, and a world that is unsympathetic to sorrow.
1. Memories

**April 30**

Perhaps, just once, the universe was on his side. It was hard to call this misery a blessing, but there was a blessing to it: at least this had come just before the OWLs and NEWTs, and Severus hadn't the time to dwell overly long on what had happened. The Fifth Year students were showing definite signs of fatigue and stress, and as the exams crept closer, more and more of them were being sent to the hospital wing for calming potion. Which, of course, was provided by Hogwarts' own potions master, though he never mentioned it to a single student. Despite his reputation for hearlessness, Severus Snape remembered all too well what it was like to be studying until all hours of the morning, and worrying over the results of a test that would, as their teachers were fond of reminding them, shape their lives hereafter. The Seventh Year students facing NEWTs fared little better; their scores, after all, would influence their careers and their promotions. They, at least, had the promise of graduation to buoy their spirits, though.

Severus wished he had something to buoy his spirits, but he did not. He had his work, and while he could lose himself in the minutae of grading and lecturing and preparing potions, he thought he would survive. Night, however, was an enemy he was ill-equipped to face, for with the dimming of lights came a rush of memories. Memories he did not wish to remember. Not now. It was still too soon.

The flickering candlelight seemed to taunt him: _You held happiness in your fingertips, and it slithered away._ The nighttime drafts that lifted tapestries from the walls and ruffled papers left on desks whispered a curse: _You are forever destined to misery, and those you dare to love will disappear._

It was nighttime now, or near enough to it, and Severus was sitting outside under a tree, the soft sounds of night swirling around him. He did not hear the song of the nightengale, though, and he did not hear the low buzz of whatever small creatures were emerging to dance in the darkness. His eyes did not see the fireflies, nor had they seen the splendor of the sunset. He could see one thing, and one thing only, and that was her face, still smiling and laughing, her eyes sparkling. He closed his eyes, not sure if he was trying to dispell the image or to hold onto it.

"Severus?" _Go away,_ he thought urgently, but the one who had spoken did not hear his fervent silent pleas, or did not pay attention to them. There was a soft grunt, and when Severus opened his eyes, Dumbledore was seated beside him. "You couldn't have chosen a bench somewhere, could you?" There was a lightness to the older wizard's words, but also a gentle sympathy that Severus wasn't sure he had the energy for. He remained silent. "I won't interrupt your desolation for long, my boy," Dumbledore was saying, "but I wanted to tell you-- Aislinn's funeral will be Saturday. Will you be going?"

Severus' eyes closed tightly again. "Do I have to?" he whispered into the darkness.

Dumbledore's hand closed over his own, and Severus stiffened at the touch. "It would be appropriate, I believe," the headmaster said softly, "and you might even find it beneficial."

I doubt that, Severus thought, but he didn't trust himself to speak, even if he would have said such bitter words to Dumbledore. "Very well," he whispered, genuinely not caring if he went or not. He could be as miserable at a funeral as he was here.

"It will be in Muggle London, Severus so..."

He nodded. _So make sure you have Muggle clothes._

"And, Severus..." Severus looked at Dumbledore, who looked as though he were about to say something unpleasant. He did. "The notice specifically says not to wear black."

Severus winced. "Why?" he asked softly. "I thought Muggles considered black appropriate for funerals."

"Well, normally they do, but apparently not for this one."

Severus sighed. "Fine." He wished Dumbledore would leave. Sincerely wished it, for once. He often thought it, but seldom did he actually wish the Headmaster would leave him alone, but this was one of those rare times. He was barely holding onto his composure, and he didn't want Albus Dumbledore wheedling at the flimsy wall he'd erected to separate himself from the pain.

And damn the man, he seemed to know that. "All right," Dumbledore said softly, patting his arm once more. "I'll leave you be. Remember, though, that you know the password to my office. Put that knowledge to use, Severus." With another soft grunt, Dumbledore stood and was gone, leaving Severus to stare blankly past the fireflies once more.

* * *

Saturday morning, Severus rose in a state of numbness, and dressed in much the same. Dumbledore had procured him a shirt that was not black, but, Severus noted distantly with a mild appreciation, was a dark enough green that it might as well have been. Black fit his dark mood, and at least he wouldn't have to endure the insult of some shockingly bright color. He shrugged into the long-sleeved shirt and buttoned it absently, tucking it into the top of his black trousers. A glance in the mirror would have normally made him scowl; the clothes were _not_ his idea of fashionable or comfortable, after all. Today, though, he could barely muster the energy for a sigh. He had been hoping that this would be as quick and painless an ordeal as possible, but he'd somehow neglected to remember that Aislinn's younger sister, Amber, was a student in his House. Which meant that on top of having to attend this funeral, he had to take an eleven-year-old girl with him. An eleven-year-old girl who had been crying in various degrees of hysteria for the last week and a half.

He approached the Slytherin common room with a heavy heart, and poked his head inside, gesturing to the child in question, who nodded, big blue eyes shining in a painful imitation of her older sister's. Amber joined him in the corridor, and he paused outside the portrait hole. "Did you bring your cloak?" he asked her, making an attempt to keep his voice stern. She nodded, and held up the cloak, which he took from her and they walked in silence to Dumbledore's office, from where they would be traveling by Floo to the Leaky Cauldron. When they reached Dumbledore's office, Severus handed the girl her cloak back, and she positioned it around her shoulders, taking care to cover the pale blue dress she wore.

"You go first, Severus," Dumbledore suggested, and Severus swing his own traveling cloak around his shoulders, pulling the hood up over his head. "The Leaky Cauldron," he spoke clearly, dropping a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and stepping into the emerald flames. He emerged on the other side and was already removing his cloak when Amber stepped out onto the hearth, followed soon by Albus. A moment of dusting off clothes and wiping faces, and Dumbledore was satisfied that the three of them were presentable. They left their cloaks in the tavern, and stepped into the blindingly brilliant morning light of June.

They made a subdued trio as they walked along the sidewalks, Dumbledore leading the way and Severus content to remain a step behind him. To his surprise, Amber lingered close to his side, and, after a moment she hesitantly slipped her hand into his. For an instant, he was taken aback by the gesture, but he recovered himself quickly and gave her hand a slight squeeze. That he had the presense of mind to do that was probably directly attributable to Amber's older sister. Clumsily, he moved his hand to her shoulder and gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, and she looked up at him, surprised, but apparently pleased, as he face bloomed into a smile. It was like the sun breaking through a fog. "Are you doing all right?" he asked her in a low tone, and she nodded. "Good," he whispered. They made the rest of their journey in silence.

When they reached their supposed destination, Severus couldn't help a flicker of doubt as he looked at the structure. "Is this where we're going?" he asked Dumbledore, who looked almost as doubtful as he felt.

Dumbledore nodded, though, and indicated the paper in his hand. "23156 Marlowe Avenue," he said, indicating the nubers on the door, and then the street sign on the corner.

"I was under the impression that Muggles held funerals in churches..." Severus trailed off, and looked at Amber, as though she might hold the answer to this mystery. She merely shrugged, looking as perplexed as the two men, and much more daunted. That Severus didn't look so daunted was testiment to his will power. The building in question was obviously a row house, but it was painted a shade of blue that came just shy of being surreal. The trim was pale lavendar, and it clashed something horrible, though somehow Severus could almost imagine Aislinn picking such a color scheme and making it look tastefully elegant. It was the sign on the front of the door, however, that made his eyebrows climb to his hairline. A picture of a crescent moon with three stars at the tip, and an absurdly elegant script that read: "The Divine Mme. Morris: Palmisty, Tarot and Astrological Interpretation."

"Well, I suppose we should go inside," Dumbledore said, folding up the page and slipping it into the breast pocket of the brilliantly purple shirt he was wearing. He reached for the door, which jingled a collection of bells as it opened, and Severus ushered Amber inside with a light touch on her shoulder. Once they were inside, Severus paused, letting his senses adjust to the assault of this new environment.

There was no light, save from a grouping of weak candles on a mirrored sideboard and a tiny stream that filtered in through the gap in a pair of heavy velvet red curtains. There was a mismatched assortment of chairs, all over-stuffed and upholstered in vibrant, rich shades redolent of a jewel box, all gathered around a low, round table. A curtain of beads glittered at the back of the room, and everywhere he looked there were beads, books or candles. Perhaps most stunning, though, was the heaviness to the air, which was so thick with insence that it made Severus' nose twitch.

"Can I help you?" For a moment, Severus thought he was looking at Sybill Trelawney, but a second glance dispelled the notion. The figure in front of him was small and draped in purples and reds and oranges and beads, her hair pulled back in a sickeningly mismatched paisley scarf, large gold earrings dangling against her neck. She was be-bangled and be-sequined as Sybil ever was, but this woman had red hair (which even in the faint light was quite obviously not her natural hair color.) Severus' mouth opened and closed silently.

"Is this where the funeral for Aislinn Ichalia is to be held?" Dumbledore, fortunately, had not seemed to lose his tongue at the sight of the woman, who was now crossing her arms and looking at them with an expression that reminded Severus of a cat toying with a mouse.

"No," she replied evenly, "it is not."

There was a moment of silence, and then Dumbledore asked, "Do you know where that event will take place?"

"There is to be no funeral," the woman rejoined, and Severus and Dumbledore traded looks over the top of Amber's head.

"But the notice..."

"Raven, are you tormenting people again? Give over!" Severus barely had time to register that the woman speaking to them was apparently named Raven when another woman joined them, this one somewhat less clashing but no less shocking.

Even in the dim light, Severus could see that her hair, swinging in a blunt line just below her jaw, was a rich, chestnut color and streaked with gold. Her eyes were a shade of gold that didn't belong on any human, but somehow seemed to suit her. Her dress seemed to be composed of several layers of scarves, which gave her an ethereal appearance, and one that was nearly suggestive, despite there being so many layers that he couldn't even trick his mind into believing he could see anything. She moved her hair behind her ear, as though irritated with it, and revealed a half-dozen tiny gold rings along the rim of her ear. "Honestly," she muttered,half under her breath, "you have no sense of decency, Raven. Stop being such a twit."

"Is this where the funeral for Aislinn is to be held?" DUmbledore repeated his earlier question, directing it now to the newcomer.

"See?" asked Raven accusingly. "I told them there was to be no funeral!"

The other woman rolled her eyes slightly and reached past Raven, taking Amber by the arm. "Pay her no mind," she said, "she's just out of sorts. I think she's taking this worse than any of the rest of us, actually, she's just being a pain about it." This last was said in a conspiratorily lowered voice, and Severus found himself being ushered by the petite, caramel-haired woman who was too unusual to be pretty and too beautiful to be anything else. "I'm Autumn," she introduced herself. "And I am sorry if Raven shocked you. And you are...?"

Albus reached forward and took the proffered hand. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster at the school where Aislinn was teaching. This is her younger sister, Amber Carlisle," Autumn paused and clucked her tongue, pulling the girl into a firm embrace, "and this is Severus Snape."

Autumn stopped suddenly, dead in her tracks, and her eyes, which suddenly reminded Severus of a sweet sherry, grazed over him. "So you're Severus," she said softly. "Aislinn spoke often of you. She told me that if I ever ran across a man dressed all in black and scowling at the world, it was likely to be you." She was smiling, which made Severus think it was supposed to be some poor attempt at a joke. "So you'll forgive me that I didn't recognize you. I'm glad you were able to come." She slipped her arms around him, pulling him into a firm embrace, and he couldn't help but note that her head barely topped his shoulder. So unlike Aislinn.

Severus was at a loss. Luckily, however, Dumbledore was not. "Raven?" he hesitated, nodding at the woman with such violently red hair. At Autumn's nod, Dumbledore cloeared his voice. "She said there is to be no funeral...? I was under the impression..."

"There is no 'funeral', per se," Autumn replied, gesturing them towards a staircase. "A funeral is a reason to mourn a person's death. We are here to celebrate Aislinn's life. A memorial," she whispered, "not a funeral."

Severus' eyes widened slightly, and he shot a withering look a Dumbledore. _What have you gotten us into?_

* * *

The memorial service was nothing short of torture, and it took every ounce of composure and willpower that Severus had not to crawl into a corner and sob. He bore it silently, though, avoiding the touches and friendly embraces of people who had obviously known Aislinn. Muggles, to a one, the three from Hogwarts were the only magical people in the room. The rest of them were men and women who had no inkling that their friend was a witch, born Hannah Carlisle into a Pureblood family and all but disowned because a bout with childhood cancer had left her barren, and theefore of no use to the line.

The ritual was like nothing Severus had ever seen, nor read about, nor heard mention of, beginning with the lot of them sitting in a circle and recounting stories about Aislinn. Each time someone mentioned her name, he felt his throat restrict, threatening to suffocate him. He survived, somehow, though and even managed to whisper a few words himself when his turn came. Dumbledore, he noticed, was faring much better, with his usual calm and composure. Amber was crying and laughing in turns, and as the 'memorial' stretched on, he thought she was, perhaps, benefitting from it. As Dumbledore had suggested he would. Severus did not find anything there, though, except pain beyond measure.

After nearly four hours in that upstairs room, Autumn and three other women stood, and in closing, they passed out tiny vials. Severus held his up to the light, frowning slightly at it. It seemed to be filled with a fine grey powder, though he did not know what it was. His question was answered soon enough, though, as Autumn explained. "Most of Aislinn's ashes were scattered to the winds," she told them, her voice thick with emotion. "That was her greatest wish, to be free as the wind, and it was only in death that she was able to find that freedom. We all keep her, though, in our hearts, and now in our hands. Do what you will with the ashes; she gave so freely of herself in life, and in death she has done the same."

Amber was crying again, and Dumbledore had gathered her into his arms and was whispering something to her. Severus sat, turning the tiny vial over and over in his hand, and he was still enshrouded in that numbing haze when Dumbledore gathered the two of them and made their excuses, leading them back through the streets of Muggle London. Back to their world.


	2. Snape's Massacre

They were nearly back to the Leaky Cauldron when the last thing in the world that Severus wanted to feel began to burn uncontrollably. His left arm, emblazoned with the Dark Lord's mark, was burning; his summons to Voldemort's side. "Dumbledore," he said softly, touching his arm surreptitiously and meeting the Headmaster's eyes over the top of Amber's head.

Dumbledore closed his eyes briefly, then nodded. "Go," he said softly, putting an arm around Amber's shoulders, "and we will talk when you return." Carefully guarded words, as they could make no more than insinuations in front of the student, but there was, as always, a double entendre to the older man's words. _Return safely, and be careful._

Severus ducked into an alleyway and, glancing one way and then another to make sure no Muggle would see it, he Disapparated and then Apparated into Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. If anyone heard the popping that announced his arrival and subsequent departure, they would have been hard pressed to find him before he left again; as he was there only long enough to retrieve the hooded black cloak and mask that he kept there. A moment later, he was in a field, and on his knees, crawling towards the Dark Lord. He was not the first to arrive, nor was he the last, which was as he preferred. It meant that his presence was less remarkable to the others. More likely to be noted, but unnoticed.

After kissing the robes of the Dark Lord, he took his place in the forming circle, and waited quietly, still as a corpse, as the Death Eaters arrived one by one. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Macnair, the Lestranges… it was difficult to tell everyone apart when all were wearing the robes and masks, but he'd had years to study them all, and they might as well have stood in their skin. Malfoy carried himself with an arrogance that no cloak could mask; Crabbe and Goyle, were the ones that stood like sentries, muscles of the circle, always together and willing to do whatever they were told, though not one thing more. Snape had always rather thought those two incapable of independent thought, but such goons served a purpose anywhere. The Lestranges had their own brand of arrogance—they knew that they were among the few faithful who had supported the Dark Lord openly, even after his fall. Fools, Snape had always thought. Fools to continue such a dangerous path when there was no hope of reward, and what fool would sell his soul for any but the most promising reward? The gaps in the circle filled in, slowly, too slowly for the Dark Lord's taste, as there was never a stream of black-robed figures crawling towards him. Only a trickle, one at a time. Snape was suddenly quite grateful that he'd been among the first to arrive, as that put him further in line for the punishments he was sure were coming to those who drew the Dark Lord's anger.

"It seems," came the dry hiss of a voice, a serpent slithering across dead leaves, "that my Death Eaters have grown lax in their responses. You," he raised a bony finger, and for a moment, Snape feared that finger was pointing at him. It was not, however, and the figure beside him stepped forward with an audible gulp. "And everyone who arrived after you, come here." For a moment, the Cruciatus curses were blinding, and screams of agony filled the air as the Dark Lord wrenched promises from them that they would appear more quickly the next time.

"The next time you are summoned," he spoke to all of them now, and Snape ignored the whimpering figure who was slipping back into the circle beside him, "the last five to appear will be… reprimanded." Thee was no doubt what sort of reprimand they would receive. Snape closed his eyes behind the mask, and made a note to speak with the Dark Lord, to find out if he might have a bit of leniency, given that he had to Floo away from the school before he could Apparate, and that meant a slight delay. He thought the Dark Lord would be merciful in that respect; he was often quite understanding of Snape's predicament.

Seeming to float nearly formlessly before them, the Dark Lord began a slow circuit of the assembly, pausing here and there to speak to someone, giving instructions, and after a moment, Snape's mind wandered away from the meeting. Dangerous, that, especially here, but his control was lacking just now, the grief too great upon his heart. His hand slid into the pocket of his trousers, and found the smooth glass vial, and his heart clenched at the thought of bright-eyed and laughing Aislinn. And immediately, he berated himself, for it seemed a disgrace to her memory to think about her here.

"Ah, Snape," came that hissing whisper, right in front of him, and Snape's eyes and mind snapped back to the present. A long, bony, death-cold finger slipped under his chin, raising his head slightly. "Your mind is not with me, my loyal Death Eater."

Snape barely missed swallowing hard; being called a 'loyal Death Eater' was fearsome on many levels, most immediately because the Dark Lord tended to use that appellation just before questioning the supposed loyalty, and such a test was never to be enjoyed. To his horror, Snape found his mind whirring; he was dancing with Aislinn, he was kissing her. He was walking in the moonlight, she pointing at shooting stars, whispering for him to make a wish… Snape could not close out the Dark Lord, and it was a deadly game of cat and mouse, but Voldemort's interest seemed to be with Aislinn, and those were the memories he wrenched forth.

"Your mind is not with me," he repeated, "and neither is your heart. Who is she?"

Breathe, he ordered himself. _Breathe and then tell him what he wishes to hear._ He took a deep, ragged breath. "One who addled my senses, my lord, and who incited my passion."

The Dark Lord's face, deformed though it was, conveyed a sense of ironic humor, and he turned Snape's face to one side, studying his profile for a moment. "I will not share your heart and mind," he whispered. "Do as you wish with your body, but your heart and mind are mine alone. Either bring her here to pledge her loyalty, or kill her."

He was turning away, and Snape forced himself to speak. "That won't be necessary, my lord." A cumulative gasp ripped from the circle; no one talked back to Voldemort. He whipped around, his red eyes gleaming madly, but Snape's hand was already in his pocket, pulling forth the vial. "She is already dead," he whispered, offering the vial.

Those cold fingers wrapped around the small glass flask and held it to the light, and then the lipless mouth curved into a frightening excuse for a smile. "I see," he intoned. "And you mourn for her. How sentimental." There was a flicker of amusement near the Lestranges, and Snape could almost hear Bellatrix shrieking with delight. The Dark Lord turned away from him again.

"My children!" his voice suddenly raised high above them all. "One among us is plague with sorrow. We must do something to lift his spirits. On the dark of the moon, just past sunset, be ready, for we feast that night!" He whirled back to Snape, smiling that petrifying smile. "And it shall be a blood feast worthy of a title. In your honor, my loyal Death Eater. It shall be known as Snape's Massacre."

"Thank you, my lord, you are compassionate." The words sounded hollow even to his own ears; Snape wanted nothing more than to crawl into the bushes and heave until he relieved himself of the pain that threatened to consume him.

The curling sneer of Voldemort's mouth was bone-chilling. "Of course," he said silkily, "anything for my children. When you suffer, I suffer." And he was off again, walking around the circle. He paused here and there, giving instructions, and then there would be a _pop!_ as someone Disapparated. The Dark Lord would pass three before pausing to give instructions to someone, and then continue on, and he made at least five circuits before only a handful were left. Lucius was one of the last to be dismissed, along with Crabbe and Goyle, and then, there was only Snape and the Heir of Slytherin.

He lifted a finger and beckoned Snape to come forward, and Snape did so.

"You will be reporting to that old fool tonight, I presume?" The Dark Lord's voice had lost some of the silky softness.

"Yes, my lord," Snape replied.

"Good. Tell him that our merriment will begin at ten, at Stonehenge."

Snape bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."

"What more can you tell me of that doddering old man?"

Snape shifted slightly, hoping the Dark Lord would take it for discomfort at having so little information. "Little, I'm afraid," he replied softly. "They suspect me, and have begun to guard their tongues in my presence. I will be looking for a way to redeem myself in their eyes soon."

"They still will not speak to you without the blindfold?"

"No, my lord." That had been a recent development, as of mid-February.

hr 

"Wait."

Snape stopped and looked at the man who'd spoken-- Alastor Moody, a half-crazed former Auror who say conspiracy around every corner and spies up every tree. He hated Snape with a passion, a personal grudge that one of the Death Eaters was known to him, and beyond his reach. Snape had always thought he lived in an idealistic contortion of reality where 'should' and 'are' were the same things.

"What is it, Alastor?" Dumbledore's voice was smooth and calm, but touched with a certain impatience.

"I have been thinking on it, Albus, and the more I think the less I like it."

Snape snorted softly. "Wonders never cease, Moody. I wouldn't have thought you capable of thought."

Both men turned a glare to Snape, but it was the one from Dumbledore that quieted him.

"We know that there is a leak in the Order. The attacks over the last two months have suggested it, but as far as I'm concerned, it's the last two weeks that have proven it. How did the Death Eaters know that we were going to be moving the Wimberlys to safety?"

The corner of Snape's mouth turned up slightly. "What are you suggesting, Moody?"

Moody's magical eye rolled madly, a discomforting feeling to say the least, and it settled on Snape's left arm. "I am saying, **Professor**, that there are certain spots that no cleansing can wash off. Presuming, of course, that a person actually **bathes**."

Snape opened his mouth to retort, but Albus lifted a hand, stopping the argument. "We cannot afford to bicker among ourselves. There are few enough of us as it is."

"So few that we refuse to see what is before our very eyes? Albus, there are three new faces in that room, and I refuse to expose them to danger. He," Moody jerked his head towards Snape, "is not to be trusted. We have trusted him enough, and for what? Trifles we could have worked out on our own that come too late for us to do anything about? And exposure of **our** plans to You-know-who? It is not worth it, Dumbledore, and you're a blind fool if you refuse to see it."

There was a moment of silence, each of the men lost in his own thoughts, and then Dumbledore sighed softly. "And what do you propose, Alastor? That we give up our link to Voldemort's inner circle? If you are starving, you eat the bread you are given and do not complain that it is not filet mignon."

Snape bristled at being compared to bread and slabs of beef, and he flinched at the Dark Lord being named, but he kept his mouth shut. He could not afford to endanger his position further.

Moody grunted, but seemed to have conceded the point that the information Snape brought, while not invaluable, was more than they had from any other source. "Then why does he not report directly to you, or to me, and leave the others out of it? I daresay You-know-who is aware of our involvement, but there are others..."

Dumbledore shook his head firmly. "Everyone who is here is here by his or her own free will. Everyone knows the danger of standing up to Voldemort, and everyone remembers what happened the last time. It is their choice to be here, Alastor, and I will take as many able bodies and sharp minds as I can find. Perhaps there are connections that others will help us to make, that they would not make if they did not hear and could not question."

Snape flinched again, Moody looked too livid to even notice Dumbledore's naming of the Dark Lord, and after another grunt, he sighed, resigned. "Then at the very least blindfold him. So that he cannot report back to you-know-who."

Snape's eyes widened indignantly. "I do not appreciate the..."

"Perhaps, Severus, it is wise."

Snape spun to look at Dumbledore, disbelieving. Dumbledore had always trusted him implicitly. "But sir, you don't think I..."

"No," Dumbledore replied, "I do not. But it would be for your own protection as well. After all, who is to say what information Voldemort could wrench from you if he resorted to torture. It is far better that you have no information to give."

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. "Fine," he hissed. "I will wear the blindfold. But you have gained nothing."

Moody's lip curled into an almost identical sneer. "You will wear the blindfold, not because you so **graciously** conceded to do so, but because it is what is best for the Order. You have no choice."

"Very well. Find out what you can, but more importantly, see to it that they are at Stonehenge." He was so adamant about that Snape thought it likely the attack would be on the opposite end of Britain.

"Yes, my lord," he replied.

"Go."

hr 

As soon as the Dark Lord released him, Severus Disapparated, relieved to be placing the comfort of distance between them. He Apparated into the kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and drew a ragged breath, peeling the mask away from his face and the hood from his head. Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, and just stood there for a moment, letting the wall support him, the implications of what the Dark Lord had said sinking in. Snape's Massacre. A blood bath in his name. He turned to face the wall, his elbow propped against it, and leaned forward, burying his face in his hand. The mask slipped from between his fingers and landed on the floor, but he did not notice it. Nor did he notice the door opening, and someone stepping into the room.

His first indication that he was not alone was a hand on his shoulder, and he flinched. _Why is everyone so bloody determined to touch me?_ he thought bitterly, stiffening. "Go away," he whispered, not even caring who it was. The grip on his shoulder only tightened, though, and Severus spun around. "I said leave me!"

"You cannot hold the world at bay forever, Severus." It was Lupin, and his eyes were softened with sympathy. Sympathy Severus neither wanted nor needed.

He opened his mouth to reply coldly that he did not need advice from a werewolf, but instead of the words, there was only a sob that wrenched from somewhere deep inside, taking him by surprise. He suddenly felt vulnerable, and, he most likely would have collapsed had it not been for Remus' quick reaction, pulling him into a firm embrace. Snape did not want to be in Remus' arms, had no desire for anything more or less than the lull in hostility that they had all agreed to. He was obviously not in control of himself, or his reactions, however, and before he knew what he was doing, Severus had leaned his head into Lupin's shoulder, and the sobs shook his body.

"Shhh…" Lupin whispered, lifting a hand to Severus' neck. "Not so hard. You'll make yourself ill." Other than that murmured advice, no words passed between the two of them, and after a moment, the worst of the sobs subsided, though Severus was still shaking. Lupin's tight grip of the base of his neck never wavered, and his embrace bordered on painfully tight, and, Severus was shamefully aware that he was clinging to the other man like a child.

He didn't know how long they stood there, but Severus did not lift his head from Remus' shoulder until he heard a soft crackling, and even then, he was only vaguely aware that Remus was turning. Severus made a weak attempt to pull away, but Remus' continued grip was enough excuse to stay where he was, suggesting, even to his own mind, that perhaps he was not truly ready to break away just yet.

"The Weasleys," Lupin said softly, answering the unspoken question, his hand smoothing Severus' hair. "Just the Weasleys. It's all right."

Severus nodded and leaned into Remus' shoulder again, a new wave of pain washing over him, and another sob wrenching free. Molly's was the first voice he heard, and he wished she would go _away_.

"Severus! Are you all right?" she was asking, and he felt her hand against his arm, and another sob bubbled up from his throat.

"He's fine," Lupin said. "He's just fine."

"Well, he doesn't look fine. Severus, are you hurt?"

"Molly." Severus was grateful for Lupin's calm insistence. "He is fine. Go on."

Arthur was the owner of the next voice Severus recognized, and he squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the man might somehow be too blind to see him. He tried to swallow a sob and regain some composure, but the effort only caused the sob to transform into a moan, and Remus tightened his grip once more. "It's all right," he whispered. "Let it out."

"Severus?" Arthur's voice held the same parental concern that Molly's had, but he let it go much more quickly than Molly had when Remus repeated his mantra.

"He's fine, Arthur."

There were several more crackles, and then another voice, one Severus had decidedly been hoping would be absent for once. Wishful thinking of course. "Is that Professor Snape?" The voice belonged to Harry Potter, and the reply to Ronald Weasley.

"Is he _crying_?"

That's right, boys, and you say a word to anyone and I'll… Remus was smoothing his hair again suddenly, and the threat slipped from his mind as another sob worked its way to the surface.

"Why is he crying?"

"Mum, what's wrong with…?"

"Hush, the both of you," Molly admonished quietly. "Go light a fire in the sitting room. Go on!"

There was more crackling, and two more voices, both female. Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger, both of whom stopped talking abruptly. "Is that Professor…"

Why don't you just hang a sign around my neck that says "Severus 'Snivellus' Snape is crying?" he thought bitterly. There was another crackle and roar, and then Molly's voice again.

"Bill, good. Take the children into the drawing room, please, and _keep_ them there."

"Yes, mum," came a male voice, and then "Come on, you all heard her. Move." There was a general shuffling sound, and one more question from Ron Weasley.

"But why is Professor Snape crying?"

"I don't know, Ron," Bill replied, and the last of his words were nearly muffled beyond recognition. "But whatever his reason, I doubt he needs an audience."

There was quiet again, and, by degrees, Lupin was easing his tight grip on Severus' shoulders. A gentle hand on his arm brought his eyes up at last, and, through tear-bleared vision, he looked at the worried face of Molly Weasley.

"Are you sure you're all right, Severus?" she asked. He nodded mutely, his face beginning to burn, and Lupin guided him to one of the chairs.

"What brought that on, Remus?" Arthur was asking softly, and Severus could barely make out Lupin's head shaking.

"No idea," he said softly as he knelt by Snape's knee.

Molly had slid an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him against her now, her hand pressing his face against her breasts. "It must have been horrible," she commented softly. "Whatever it was."

He felt another hand on his shoulder, Arthur's this time, and the outpouring of sympathy—and there was not a hint of judgement in any of their voices—was almost enough to send him into another round of sobs. Remus, however, was standing. "Come on, Severus, up you go… there." Severus was standing too, now, having been pulled to his feet by Lupin. "Let's go wash your face before the others start arriving. Molly…"

"I'll put on some tea," Molly was saying, bustling off.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'll just take this…" he trailed off, and Severus glanced at him. He had the mask in his hands. "I'll just take it upstairs and… Severus, do you want to give me that cloak?" Despite asking, Arthur gave him little choice in the matter, and Severus found the cloak being peeled off him.

Within a few minutes, Snape was shut into a downstairs bathroom, a flannel in his hands, looking into the mirror at his face and scowling.

"Tsk, tsk, you don't look good at all, dearie," the mirror told him, and he scowled at his reflection.

"And here I thought I was setting a new trend," he replied caustically.

He ran cool water over the flannel and applied it to his face, holding it over his eyes and nose for a long minute in a desperate attempt to reduce the swelling and redness that were such a tell-tale giveaway of his evening activities. _And you couldn't have found a quiet corner to do that alone?_ he asked himself. _No, you had to collapse on top of that bloody…_ He couldn't finish the thought, though. Lupin, whatever else he might have been in their youth, was possibly the most mature of his former schoolmates. Himself included, he admitted grudgingly. Perhaps it had been because of the loss he suffered so early in his adulthood—two friends dead at the hands of the Dark Lord, a third friend having betrayed them and killing a fourth… coupled with his struggles as a werewolf, it wasn't difficult to believe that Lupin had been forced to grow up and to look beyond the rosy glow of Hogwarts days. Perhaps Severus was being unfair to him after all. He wet the flannel again and waved it in the air, cooling it even more before patting his face with it once more.

Last December, Lupin had come to his private rooms to retrieve the Wolfsbane potion, and they'd talked for a few moments. A strained conversation, yes, and one that Severus had only half-listened to at the time, but they'd talked. Lupin had extended an offer of friendship, which Severus had turned away. He probably would have turned it away from anyone, but most especially someone he had so hated as a boy. _But, had you been in Lupin's position just a moment ago, what would you have done?_ He snorted softly. _Bloody well left whoever it was alone. Which was what I wanted._ He peered at himself again, and thought that some of the redness had left his eyes and nose, but his eyes were still abnormally bright. Nothing he could do anything about anyway. He sighed and draped the flannel over the drying rack and washed his hands. _Wanted to be left alone, hrm? And I suppose that's why you made such an effort to get away from him. You could throw Lupin against the wall. There aren't many people you would be physically strong enough to shove away from you, but he is one of the few._

With a disgusted sigh, Severus left the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The mirror clucked at him. "Nasty temper."


	3. The spy

As he stepped into the hall, Severus was greeted by Dumbledore, who gave him an odd look before touching his shoulder. "Is all well, my boy?"

Severus snorted softly. "Fine," he whispered. "Is everyone here?" The Headmaster nodded, and Severus scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Good," he replied. "Can we get on with it now?"

"Of course."

Severus moved to the front door, making sure he was well past the portrait of Sirius' mother before he nodded to Dumbledore. The Headmaster approached him, and produced a length of thick black velvet, which he tied tightly around Severus' eyes, securing it at his head. He arranged the blindfold carefully over Severus' face, and Severus was sure that there was something Dumbledore did to see if he would respond to it, but he could see nothing. In all honesty, Severus could not see a thing except velvety black.

He heard the kitchen door opening, the squeak of the hinge that set it apart from every other door in the house; there was something about being deprived of sight that made it easier to see certain things. Dumbledore's hands on his shoulders guided him into the kitchen, and led him to a chair, which he lowered himself into. The kitchen smelled of onions and tea; Molly was cooking dinner, and had made the tea, just as she had said she would. Someone's hands, soft, small hands, guided his own hands to a teacup. Tonks.

"You have just returned from a summons, Severus. Tell us what transpired." That was Dumbledore's voice, though it was distant and formal.

"We met in a field I did not recognize," he began. "There were seventeen present. Lucius was there, and Crabbe and Goyle, Macnair…" He listed the names of those who were easily known to be Death Eaters, but he did not mention those whom he did not think everyone knew of. That was part of what he did best—filtering information, giving enough to make it worth their while to listen, but seldom anything they did not already know or could not work out. Moody had been right about that.

"The Dark Lord spoke with each of us individually. He often does this, issuing private orders for us where no others can hear." Again, that was primarily the truth. The more he kept to the truth, the easier it was to remember the lies. Of course, the Dark Lord did that largely because he knew of Snape's position within the Order, and it gave him a handy reason not to tell everything he knew. "The one to my right, he was late, so his orders were to be on time next time. He was tortured with Cruciatus." He purposefully left out what he had heard from the one to his left.

"And what orders for you, Severus?" Dumbledore again, and Snape heard a scraping of wood against wood, then a waft of onion and carrot assaulted his nose. He heard a slight creak, and the smell of bread baking followed.

"The Dark Lord ogave me no orders, but offered instead a gift. A bloodbath, to be known as Snape's Massacre."

He heard an intake of breath around the table, and he was grateful for the blindfold; he did not think he could have said that if he were facing them.

"When? Where?" The rough voice belonged to Moody, and Snape could almost feel that magical eye of his delving past the blindfold.

Snape shook his head. "The dark of the moon," he replied. "I do not know where." A tricky lie, that one, because it was the truth, but he needed to pass off a lie as the truth and therefore the truth became a lie.

"What more can you tell us, Severus?" It was Dumbledore's voice that time.

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "The Dark Lord expects more prompt responses to his summons. It was a brief meeting."

There were whispers and the scratching of quills against parchment, and Snape could hear additional whispers from outside the door, and he wondered if the other members of the Order honestly thought that the children did not listen in on these meetings. They made enough noise to raise the dead.

"The massacre," this time it was Arthur speaking. "Do you know who is to be targeted?"

Snape shook his head. "Mudbloods, I would think. Or Muggles. He did not say, only that we would feast." Again, he was grateful for the blindfold, but he felt his stomach lurch.

There was, apparently, nothing to be said to that pronouncement, and after a moment of silence, Dumbledore cleared his throat softly. "Well, thank you Severus, you have been of service."

"Service!" Moody snorted and Snape heard the clunking, uneven walk of the ex-Auror approaching him. "He tells us there is to be a bloodbath, but not where or who is to be attacked. We cannot keep watch over all of…"

"That is enough, Alastor. He has given us what he can."

There was a snort again, and Snape felt hot breath against his ear. "I could make him tell us more," Moody whispered. "I'd bet my last galleon on it."

"I said that is enough. Come, Severus." He felt a hand on his arm again, and he stood, and allowed himself to be guided out of the kitchen. They reached the hall, and Dumbledore removed the blindfold.

Severus relaxed marginally, blinking against the sudden flood of light that assaulted his eyes. "Thank god that is over with," he muttered softly.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his arm again. "Shall we go upstairs?"

Severus nodded, and allowed the Headmaster to lead the way to the second floor, and then through a closet door. The closet, as it happened, was large enough to accommodate a small table and two chairs, and, Dumbledore gestured at one of the chairs, whispering "Lumos," into the darkness. A lamp flickered on, and the older wizard settled himself.

"What else is there, Severus?"

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Snape sighed. "Too much to even know where to begin," he admitted.

"Then start at the beginning."

With a sigh, Snape folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. "Karakoff has been found, though I don't know where. I've little doubt he will be killed."

Dumbledore nodded. "Do you think we should make the effort to find him first?"

Snape snorted softly. "There is only one thing worse than a traitor, and that is a coward. Karakoff's loyalty is only to his own skin, and I've little faith he could be trusted by anyone. Though it is rather ironic that I should say that, isn't it?"

"You know that I trust you." Dumbledore placed a hand on his arm again, and, after a moment, Severus placed his hand over Dumbledore's.

"I know," he said softly. "Though by Merlin I don't know why." He leaned away again and cleared his throat. "I believe that it was Bagman to my left tonight," he continued.

"Ludo Bagman? Are you sure, Severus?" Dumbledore sounded as though he hoped there was no certainty and Snape shook his head.

"I'm never sure of anything, Albus, but I have every reason to believe it was him."

Dumbledore sighed. "And what was his task?"

"To procure some reports from the Ministry. I don't know which ones. It seems the Dark Lord had discussed this with him before, because he asked for an update on 'those papers'. He was not pleased that he didn't have them, but there was no punishment."

"Clearly it was someone in the Ministry, whoever he was. You're certain he was not Macnair?"

"Quite. Macnair was standing beside Lucius."

Dumbledore frowned. "What else?"

Snape stood and turned away from the Headmaster, looking at the wall. "I experienced some difficulty keeping my mind on task tonight, Headmaster. The Dark Lord noticed that immediately, and called me to task on it. He was in my head."

Albus frowned deeply. "And what did he see?"

Snape closed his eyes. "Aislinn," he whispered softly. "She is all that has been on my mind for months, really. He told me he would not share my heart. It is a blessing, I suppose, that she is already dead, because that was his order to me—to either bring her to his service or kill her. The massacre was meant to… cheer me up." He spat these last words bitterly, and leaned his head against the wall.

"Where is the massacre to be, Severus?"

With a bitter laugh, Snape whispered, "I was speaking the truth in there; I do not know. He told me to mislead you to believe that it would be at Stonehenge, so I presume that is the one place it will not be. He said we were to expect his summons at sunset at the dark of the moon." Snape turned around again, leaning his back against the wall now. Dumbledore was nodding.

"That is two weeks," Dumbledore said softly. "Perhaps we can make some arrangements."

"Just be sure to have people at Stonehenge," Snape said softly. "I need that story to pan out for him."

"Of course. Severus, can you think of any potions that would benefit from blood gathered at the new moon?"

Snape frowned for a moment, then shook his head. "Not off hand, but I will do a bit of research tonight and tomorrow."

"Excellent. Is there anything more?"

Taking a deep breath, Snape glanced at the door. "Are you sure we are private?" he asked softly, thinking about the students.

Dumbledore smiled a bit. "The extendable ears? No, Severus, not here. I have warded this closet against such tricks, though I must say that those two boys are geniuses."

Snape snorted softly. "Would that they'd put half the effort into the potions I assigned that they put into those trick candies of theirs." He sobered again. "I think perhaps Percy Weasley was one of the ones I could not identify tonight. I had reason to suspect it last time, but this time, I had more indication. Nothing I could explain, so don't even ask, just…" he shrugged. "They are a distinctive family."

Dumbledore let out a slow breath. "Severus, please, do not mention this to…"

"To anybody," Snape said firmly. "I don't want it to get back to Arthur or Molly unless I know for sure."

Dumbledore nodded, and then stepped forward. "You are a good man, Severus. I don't think you hear that often enough, and I wish I could reveal how much you help us."

Snape shrugged slightly. "I never thought I'd say it, but this is not something I do for the fame."

A slow smile touched Dumbledore's lips, creating a dimple. "I know," he said softly. "That is why you are such a good man." He pulled Severus into a quick embrace, and then stepped back. "Now, there is something more you are not telling me."

"What is that?" Severus asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Ronald Weasley has been going on about you crying…"

Severus snorted. "If he says it in my hearing, he will be in detention for a week," Severus said quietly.

"Is there anything you wish to talk about, Severus?"

"No," he replied bluntly.

Albus nodded. "Very well. But I will say this, my boy. I am relieved to hear it. I was beginning to fear that you would lock out the world until you forgot you were a part of it. Painful though it may be for you, emotion is one of the few things that can keep you sane just now."

"Then I am in no danger of losing my mind," Severus said softly. "I've little wish to discuss them, but believe me, my emotions are alive and strong."

"Good." Dumbledore opened the door, and gestured for Severus to preceed him, and the potions master headed downstairs.

Molly caught his arm. "Severus," she said, smiling broadly, "won't you stay for dinner tonight? We're having roast, and I made fresh rolls, and there is a chocolate pie chilling. Ronald told me you like chocolate."

"I…" he began, nearly turning down her invitation, but a glance beyond her shoulder showed Remus standing there, watching almost hopefully. Severus sighed inwardly. "I'd be honored, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly pinched his arm. "Molly. You know better than to start that Mrs. Weasley nonsense with me."

* * *

Dinner was an unnaturally quiet affair, with many an awkward glance in Severus' direction, and he was reminded why he never stayed. His presence was not, strictly speaking, welcome here, after all. The children were abnormally quiet and kept sneaking furtive glances at him; Ginny and Hermione had curiosity and sympathy in their eyes, Ron and Harry had something akin to fear, as though he were going to assign them all detentions. Fred and George were there, indistinguishable as ever, their heads bent together over something that Severus suspected was another prank. Molly was making her normal maternal comments, heaping more food onto Severus' plate every time he took a bite and clucking her tongue that he was too thin. Arthur was babbling about the Ministry, and Albus was encouraging it. Moody was scowling at him. Remus kept trying conversation, but Severus was too self conscious to really get involved in any of the light chatter. Bill was eyeing him with frank consideration, and Severus couldn't help wonder what the eldest Weasley was thinking. Laughter from the end of the table where the children were sitting suddenly drew Severus' eye, and he saw that Tonks was amusing the children with rapidly growing blue hair.

When dinner ended, Severus offered to help Molly clean up, but was shooed from the kitchen, though from the way her eyes were glowing, he could tell she was pleased he'd offered. "Go on," she told him. "I'll work faster by myself," she was already setting the spells in motion, and he nodded, slipping out of the door.

Someone caught his hand, and he whirled, finding himself facing a tall, red-haired, freckle-faced man with a pnytail and an earring. "A word, Professor?" he asked softly, and Severus frowned but nodded. Bill pointed towards the front parlor, which was still not precisely clean. Severus stepped inside, and a moment later, Dumbledore did as well.

"What is it, Bill?" asked the Headmaster, and Bill grinned.

"I was thinking at dinner, and, well, I have an idea."

"This should be entertaining," Severus said dryly, and his eyes swept the room, looking for a place to sit that was relatively clean. His eyes passed over the tapestry of the Black family, and for a moment, he couldn't help but study it, his eyes seeking out the connections. He found Lucius' name, connected to Narcissa's, and Draco beneath them. Bellatrix and Macnair were on there and…

"…put their skills to good use. I was thinking about what Se- Professor Snape was saying about the… erm, massacre…"

Severus suddenly held up a hand. "Enough, Weasley," he hissed suddenly, then raised his voice. "Do not endanger more lives," Snape glanced in the mirror above the fireplace, and noted that the door was open slightly. "I did not want to say anything in general company, Headmaster, but… can we move away from the window?" he asked suddenly, nodding towards the door. "Or better yet, to a different room?"

"Nonsense, Severus, this house is well protected, and no one can tell where it is except…" Severus held up a hand and shook his head, pleading silently with Dumbledore to display some of that infinite trust just now. The Headmaster nodded slowly. "Very well," he said.

Snape led them towards the cracked door, and then opened it, and looked up and down the hall. There was no one there. He left the door partially open so he could see if anyone approached. "I did not want to mention it in general company, Bill, because I don't know how many we can trust. But the Massacre will be at Stonehenge. Eight pm on the new moon."

There was a flicker of movement, and Snape flicked a finger at Bill, hoping he had sense enough to not do anything foolish. The red-haired man was nodding slightly. "Then I suppose that my idea would not be necessary, after all. I was only going to suggest that one of us try to pose as a follower of… You-know-who and…"

Snape snorted, and hoped desperately that that had not been the real suggestion. "Now, _pleasant_ as this evening has been, I have work to do. If I may have use of the floo…?"

"Of course, Severus," Dumbledore was saying and ushered both him and Bill out of the parlor and towards the kitchen.

Once they were inside, Severus closed the door firmly then whispered, "Upstairs, there is more to discuss." Dumbledore nodded, and then put a hand on Bill's shoulder. Bill was looking bewildered, but was, mercifully, going along with the charade, and, after a few moments of waiting, Severus poked his head out of the kitchen and looked towards the front door again. His suspicions were confirmed, and, feeling something akin to smugness, he bolted out of the kitchen and careened up the stairs, hoping he'd been quick enough. He slid backwards into the room where he hoped Dumbledore and Bill were waiting in the closet, and breathed a sigh of relief as the door clicked shut behind him.

"What was all that about, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, looking perplexed. Bill was still looking at him oddly, and looking around the closet, and Snape wondered if the boy would be bright enough to make the connection.

"I believe, Headmaster, that I have found our leak," Snape said silkily, leaning against the door.

Dumbledore frowned. "Who?"


	4. Children

Severus' lips curled into a sneer. "I don't know why none of us realized it before, considering we have so often used the same principle to find information. How many times have you sent Phineas Nigellus to his portrait here to relay a message?" Dumbledore's face was beginning to blossom with understanding, but Bill still looked confused, so Severus spelled it out. "The Blacks and Malfoys are related by marriage. It would not surprise me to find that a portrait of Mrs. Black hangs in the Malfoy Manor somewhere. In fact, knowing the Malfoys, it would surprise me if there was _not_ one there somewhere."

Bill made a face and leaned against the back wall of the closet, his knee bent, foot against the wall. "Bloody hell," he muttered. "She's been here all this time, like a sentry, watching who comes and goes…"

"…all the conversations in the hall…"

"…all the ones in the front parlor…"

"…shouting matches in the kitchen…"

"…not to mention your two brothers and their bloody 'Extendable Ears'." This was Severus and he scowled in Bill's direction. Bill shrugged slightly, as though dismissing Fred and George as his responsibility.

"We will have to _find_ a way to get rid of that portrait. I will make it a priority." This was Dumbledore, who was shaking his head. "And you are right, Severus, we have all been idiots not to see that."

"I never would have thought of it had we not been standing in front of that tapestry. Of course Narcissa has a portrait of her mother and aunt. It is unthinkable that she does not."

"So, the Malfoys know where we are?" Bill spoke again, and a bit of worry tinged his voice. Severus realized suddenly that he was still very young. It was easy to judge others by his own life experiences, and by the time Severus was Bill's age, he'd been a Death Eater, a murderer, a rapist, a spy for the original Order of the Phoenix, had been tried for his crimes and narrowly missed a lengthy sentence in Azkaban and had settled into a job as Potions teacher at Hogwarts. But that was not a normal life for a twenty-five year old young man.

"She couldn't have told them, not specifically," Albus was saying. "Even a portrait cannot reveal the location of a place protected with a fidelius charm."

"But Lucius, at least, is not stupid. If he is getting information from the portrait image of Mrs Black… it isn't a far jump to suppose where the headquarters is located."

"Does it matter if they know where we are?" This was Bill again, and it was an innocent enough question, but one that made Severus stop. He was getting so worked up over knowing who the leak was that he hadn't really considered how dangerous a leak Mrs. Black could really be. He looked to Albus, who shook his head.

"No. It does not matter if they know where we are, unless I reveal that information, they cannot come here. Our members are in no immediate danger from her, but our efforts are likely being thwarted by her."

Severus sighed. "Can't you just slice her off the wall?"

Albus shook his head again. "We already tried that."

Bill shrugged. "I'll have a look at her tomorrow morning," he offered, and, when the two older wizards looked at him with twin expressions of doubt that he could accomplish what none of the others could, the red-head grinned. "It's my job, you know. Breaking curses. And if I can break a curse on an Egyptian tomb, surely I can get a damn painting off the wall."

Severus nodded. "Won't hurt to try, at least. And I'll see if there isn't something in my stores to dissolve the paint if nothing else."

Dumbledore waved a hand. "We'll all just have to be careful what we say downstairs," he said. "We cannot change the past, but we can keep from making the same mistake again in the future. Now, Bill, let's get back to your idea about the massacre."

Bill frowned. "But I thought you said you know…"

Severus waved a hand dismissively. "Forget what I said, Mr. Weasley, and answer the Headmaster's question."

"You know," he said coolly, "I'm not your student anymore, _Severus_, and even if I were, your attitude is lacking. Give it a rest, will you?"

Severus' eyes widened, but Albus was holding up a hand again, waylaying argument. "Enough. Both of you. Bill, I want to hear your idea, and you, Severus, can hold your criticism until he has finished speaking."

Crossing his arms across his chest, Severus scowled, but kept his mouth pointedly shut as Bill began speaking. "Fred and George," he said simply. "Have you seen some of their pranks? They have more ability to figure out how to get what they want than… Just last week they managed to charm their beds to look like they were sleeping in them, to cover while they sneaked off to Merlin-knows where to do God knows what. I don't even want to know what they were doing, but the point is…"

"The point is you think we can trick the Dark Lord into believing that there are people where there are none?" Severus forgot that he was being quiet. "Your brothers' pranks, while amusing, are no match for the power of…"

"That isn't what I was saying at all. Look, I know they look like kids, and they are. They barely have their Apparating licenses. But they're _very_ good at figuring things out, and…" Bill took a deep breath. "There's little that goes on that they don't find out about anyway. Why not bring them into the Order officially? Maybe they can come up with a way for Severus to alert the rest of us where the massacre is going to be and…"

"How?" Severus sneered. "Shall I stop in the middle and make my excuses to the Dark Lord? 'Oh, wait just a minute, I need to tell Dumbledore where we're murdering innocent people so he can lead his heroes to come stop us'? That would go over _quite_ well." He turned to the Headmaster. "Albus…?"

"Perhaps Bill has a point, Severus. Fred and George are quite resourceful, and I don't think they've ever seen the challenge they would concede was impossible."

"THEY'RE CHILDREN!" Severus bellowed, slamming his fist onto the table with enough force to make it rattle. "YOU CANNOT BRING THEM INTO THIS!"

Silence hung heavily in the small closet for a moment, and Severus stalked to a corner, putting as much distance between himself and the other two as he could. After a moment, Bill cleared his throat softly. "They're older than you were when you decided…"

Severus whipped around and stalked towards Bill until he was standing hooked nose to freckled nose with the oldest Weasley boy. "Do you think I don't know how old they are?" he hissed. "They were in my classes for seven years. Do you think I cannot add? They turned nineteen this past November, did they not? And you are right, I was seventeen when I joined the Dark Lord. And that was twenty years ago," his voice had dropped to a barely audible but deadly whisper. "And I am still bound by that one idiotic decision made in my idiotic youth. They are too young for this, just like I was. Just like James and Lily Potter were. Just like you are."

He whirled away from Bill again and seated himself unceremoniously in one of the chairs, and the silence descended once more. Finally, Bill pushed away from the wall he was leaning against. "I may be young," he said softly, "but I know that what I do is dangerous. And I know it is right. And I would rather die fighting than hide behind a number. I still think you should involve them, and I think they would be good at it. But, if you will excuse me, I will leave the _adults_ present to make that decision." He let himself out of the closet and slammed the door, and Severus could hear his footsteps all the way downstairs.

After another lengthy pause, Dumbledore approached Severus, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Bill is right, you know," he said softly. "Perhaps _because_ they are young, this is their war as much as it is yours or mine. More, perhaps, because they have more of their lives ahead of them, to live in whatever world emerges."

Severus looked up at the Headmaster. "You approve of this, then?" he asked softly. "You would have boys involved? Why not bring in Potter and Ron and Miss Granger, then? Hermione is certainly brilliant. She probably has ideas knocking around in her head just waiting to get out. Or maybe Potter could come along and pull off another of his miracles. How many do you think he has tucked up his sleeve?"

"I have considered bringing those three into the inner circle, Severus, and Ginny Weasley as well. They are all talented and bright, and powerful, and Merlin knows they get into more trouble when we try to keep them out… But in the end, I suppose that I agree with you. They are children, and this is dangerous work." Dumbledore smiled kindly, moving to lean against the table, still facing Severus. "But then, I see you and Remus as children, too. It seems only yesterday that it was detentions and pranks. You were such a vulnerable child, Severus," he whispered. "And I am enough of a fool that I have loved every child who has attended Hogwarts in the last century. Molly and Arthur, Sirius and Remus and James and Lily… Lucius and Narcissa and Bellatrix and Peter… You are all too young to be fighting this war. Everyone is too young to be fighting this war," he said softly. "That is not something I can change, though."

Severus thought rather that he felt far too old at the moment to be hearing Dumbledore call him a child, but it was true, he supposed. After all, Albus Dumbledore was already Headmaster and had been for some time before Severus was even born. "I cannot be as calm and accepting of all this as you are," he said softly. "I don't see how you do it."

Dumbledore smiled slightly, then reached under his curtain of white hair and untied a cord from about his neck, pulling it off and giving it to Severus. "This is a prayer from the Muggle world," he said. "I find that the sentiment helps."

Severus closed his hand around the pendant, which radiated a warmth from having hung so close to Dumbledore's body. He peered at it; it was a coin, it seemed, and on one side there were small words engraved. He murmured them aloud. "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference." He frowned up at the Headmaster.

"There are many things that we cannot change," Albus said softly. "And those things that we can often require difficult decisions. Do you think it is easy for me to watch you walk away, clutching your arm, when I know that you face danger? It requires strength I wish I did not have to have to send you to Voldemort's side. To put others in harm's way when I do not know if my actions are wise, it weighs heavily on my heart, my boy. But I know that the cause we are fighting for is right, and that victory will come only at a high cost, a price we have paid in blood many times over already. It is easy to take chances with one's own life, but not so easy to take chances with the lives of those we love."

Severus stared, unseeing, at the charm in his hand for several minutes, quietly contemplating what Dumbledore had said. That was right, wasn't it? It was far easier for him to walk into the midst of the Death Eaters than it would be for him to tell anyone else to do it. With a sigh, he gave the round coin back to Dumbledore. "Are you going to invite them into the meetings, then?" he asked softly.

Dumbledore took the cord and tied it around his neck again, dropping the disc back into the front of his robe. "It is not only my decision, Severus. But perhaps a second meeting tonight is in order. I will put it to the order."

Severus nodded. "If you think it will help your cause," he said softly, "I would support it. But I'll say nothing unless you want me to. I know that I am not trusted by everyone."

Dumbledore reached towards Severus, and cradled his face in his palm for a moment. "I think that for your own safety, at least for the time being, it is better that you do not attend more of these meetings than are strictly necessary. So much rides on your ability to control your mind," the Headmaster whispered. "It is best not to give you extra things to think about and to hide from Voldemort."

"Shall I go, then?" Severus asked, ignoring the implication that he could not keep himself under sufficient control. "So you can conduct your meeting in peace?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not unless you want to, Severus. And, I don't think you want to be alone right now. That you're still here speaks volumes. Perhaps you could distract the children while we have our meeting? The last thing we need is their Extendable Ears tonight."

Severus grimaced, but nodded. "Very well," he muttered.

The twinkle returned momentarily to Dumbledore's eyes. "There is an infestation of Billywigs in the study on the third floor," he suggested. "Perhaps you could direct the students in dispersing of them."

Severus snorted softly. "Only if they can manage to capture them without harming them. I could use the stings."

* * *

Half an hour later, Severus was leaning against the closed door of the third-floor study, his arms folded across his chest, his wand in one hand and half a dozen candles in the other. Ron and Harry stood to one side, Hermione and Ginny to the other, and the twins in the middle, but standing back a bit, as though they hadn't yet decided if they were a part of this little adventure or not.

"This evening," Severus said softly, and the six of them all stopped talking, looking at him, "we will be battling a flock of Billywigs that have made this study their home." Once a teacher, always a teacher, Severus had fallen into his lecturing tone and habits to a large degree, and the four younger of the assembled were looking at him with the same looks he was accustomed to in his classes. Which was to say Hermione was attentive and Ron and Harry looked like they feared they would be given detention for blinking. Fred and George, as had so often happened, were only half paying attention, but Severus knew from experience that if he called on one of them, he would have a prompt and, more often than not, correct response; the boys had a remarkable ability to listen with half an ear. Ginny was listening politely—Severus always had the impression that she was pretending to be well-behaved, but he suspected she was to blame for a number of disruptions in his classes, though he'd never actually caught her.

"Ronald," he pointed with his wand. "What do you know about Billywigs?"

Ron's eyes widened at being put on the spot, and mentally, Severus urged him to get the answer right. He had no real desire to be harsh on the students just now, but couldn't resist the chance to lecture before letting them loose on the Billywigs.

"They're… uh… bugs?" he offered.

"Bugs." Severus shook his head, and for a moment, he _did_ have the urge to make a biting remark, but he told himself firmly that this was _not_ a class situation, and the students had _not_ been given assigned reading so he could _not_ expect them to know… _Bloody hell, Ron,_ he thought incredulously, _don't you pay attention to anything?_ With effort, he turned his attention away from Ron and nodded to Ginny. "Do tell me you know more about these _bugs_ than your brother?"

"They make you laugh and float?" she answered his question with a questioning tone of her own.

Severus nodded. "So, just looking at them? Being in the same room with them?"

"Getting bit by one." Severus squinted at the twin who'd spoken; he thought it was George, but it was bloody hard to tell them apart.

"Close enough," he replied. "They don't bite, they sting, but yes. The stings cause giddyness, and sometimes levitation."

"Like in Mary Poppins," Harry said, grinning, and Hermione snickered. Everyone else, including Severus, stared blankly.

"What's Marry Poppins?" Ginny had a refreshing logic; one of the few students Severus had ever known who simply _asked_ when she had questions.

"It's a movie," Hermione replied.

"A movie?" This time it was Fred. Well, it was Fred, assuming Severus had been right about the first one to speak being George. Severus tilted his head to one side and listened quietly as Harry explained.

"Yeah, it's like… um… pictures that move and tell a story…"

"But I thought you said people stay still in Muggle pictures?" Ron asked, obviously confused.

"Well, they do usually, but this is… I mean, they don't move by themselves or anything… Hermione, help!"

She was shaking her head, though. "It's hard to explain," she said. "They're recorded, and then played back and…"

"If I understand it correctly, it's like a play that has been captured on a special kind of film, and can be watched again at will. Is this something like the fact, Harry? Hermione?" Snape raised an eyebrow, and the children turned to look at him suddenly, as though suddenly remembering he was there.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking incredulously at the professor. "Er, I mean yes sir."

Severus nodded. "But I fail to see what that has to do with Billywigs."

"There's a scene in the movie Mary Poppins where they… the characters, not the Billywigs… laugh themselves onto the ceiling. Sir." Hermione shifted her weight between her feet, and Severus mouthed a repetition of her words.

Laughed themselves onto the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a minute, trying to picture that, and, failing to do so, shook his head. "I see," he commented dryly. "Well…"

"How did they laugh themselves onto the ceiling?" It was either Fred or George, but Severus didn't look fast enough to see which one of them it was.

Harry shrugged. "They started laughing, and then they started floating, so they had a tea party on the ceiling. Well, Marr Poppins had to bring the table up, and she wasn't laughing, but…"

Severus held up a hand. "Enough," he said, his mind swimming from the images this disjointed description was providing him. "Perhaps some time we will all be fortunate enough to witness such a spectacle, but for this evening, let's worry about the Billywigs and leave Mary Poppins out of it, hm?" It was, to Severus' credit, more of a suggestion than an order, as he was trying to keep in mind that there was absolutely nothing preventing the six of them from deciding that eavesdropping was more interesting than Billywigs. Nothing except whatever dubious influence he had over them by merit of his role as teacher and theirs as students. "Does anyone know what a Billywig looks like? Miss Gr-" he broke off and took a deep breath, "Hermione?"

She smiled, exactly as she always did in class when she was called on, and smoothed her clothing, which was Muggle clothing. "Billywigs," she began as though reciting from a book, "are approximately two inches long and blue. They tend to swarm in corners and under furniture. Light confuses them and makes them dart quickly around in a room." As she spoke, Severus found, to his horror, that her face was changing, and she was not Hermione Granger, but another young Gryffindor with wild hair and an uncanny ability to recite text verbatim. He felt his throat tighten, and he closed his eyes, trying to block out the image of Hannah Carlisle, who invariably grew up before his very eyes when he pictured her. This time was no exception, and soon he was seeing dark blue eyes, clouded behind pain and trying to pretend nothing was wrong, denying that she needed a headache potion. Those headaches had been the early signs of the brain tumors that took her life, and he had not forced her to tell Poppy about them. Perhaps Poppy could have done something. _And to what end? So that the Dark Lord could tell you to kill her?_

"Professor?" The hesitant voice brought him back to reality, and he opened his eyes again, looking at Ginny.

He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure. "Correct, Miss Granger," he whispered hoarsely.

"Are you all right, Professor?"

Severus nodded. "I'm fine," he whispered, taking another steadying breath. He cleared his throat. "When we go in there," he said, deciding abruptly that the lesson was over, "try to avoid the stingers. I don't have an infinite supply of Glumbumble fluid on hand here. Use the immobulus spell," he instructed, "and then gather them into these jars. And _mind the stingers_. I can't stress that enough."

He pushed away from the door, still struggling to bring his thoughts under control and to banish the urge to drop to his knees and sob again, and the seven of them stepped into the study. "Lumos," Severus muttered, pointing his wand into the room to cast a dim, narrow beam of light.

George and Fred headed for one corner, and Hermione and Ginny for the desk, leaving Harry and Ron with a second corner. Severus closed the door firmly, and then placed an Imperturbable Charm around the room to keep the insects from escaping into other parts of the House. He muttered a candle charm, and the six candles floated and ignited, shedding a dim light in the room, which was enough to make the Billywigs begin to stir slightly, like swarm of dragonflies with silver stingers curving at the end of their tails.

"Immobulus!" Hermione began the incantations, and then Ginny followed suit, and soon, everyone was carefully picking Billywigs from the air and depositing them into jars. Severus used the tip of his wand to knock them into the jar he carried, and, after a moment, the children began to immitate him. They worked quietly for several minutes, the silence interrupted only as one or another of them moved to a different place and murmured the incantation again. One by one, the jars were set on the desk, filled with the blue insects.

After a minute, a low murmur of chatter began to fill the room, originated by one of the twins; Severus certainly couldn't tell them apart from the back. He didn't suppose it really mattered, though. "So, if they laughed themselves onto the ceiling, did they have to cry themselves onto the floor?"

It took Severus a moment to register what the boy was talking about, but he had to chuckle lightly when he realized. What must it be like to have such a single-track mind?

"As a matter of fact, yes," Hermione was saying. "Well, sort of. They had to think of something sad. But everything they thought of turned out to be funny in the end, so they kept floating back up to the ceiling again."

"Is that what the whole play was about? Laughing themselves onto the ceiling? _Immobulus,_" Ginny had moved to crouch in front of an arm chair, and was peering underneath now. Severus had an awful mental image of her sticking her hand under that chair, but luckily, she was brighter than that, and she pointed her wand at the chair. "_Wingardium Leviosa_," she said, and guided the chair into the air. Severus crouched beside her.

"Allow me," he offered, and flicked the insects into a jar.

"No," Harry was saying. "It's actually about these two kids who keep running off their governess and finally a magical one comes to take care of them, and she convinces their family to… ouch!"

Severus spun and a scowl appeared on his face. "Did you get stung, Potter?" he asked, but he didn't need the answer as Harry was clutching his finger and giggling at it. "Come here," Severus ordered, standing. Still chucking, Harry moved towards him, and Severus dug in his pocket for the tiny vial of Glumbumble fluid that Dumbledore had given to him.

Harry struggled to regain his composure. "I'm fine, Professor," he said, his voice still ringing with barely contained laughter.

"Nonsense, Potter. There will be no tea parties on the ceiling in here tonight, now…"

Harry obciously found his dry comment hilarious, as his chuckle turned into a laugh. Severus took the opportunity to force a drop of the Glumbumble fluid onto the Gryffindor's tongue, and Harry immediately made a face.

"Miserable stuff, isn't it?" Severus commiserated, capping the vial again.

Harry nodded. "Miserable is right."

"Not the most effective cure for a Billywig sting, but it will do." Harry went back to the end table he was debugging, and Severus went back to the window sill, and silence settled again, leaving Severus free to let his thoughts wander for a moment. They had just ventured back to Aislinn when Ron's voice suddenly interrupted the quiet.

"Can I ask you a question, Professor?"

"Of couse," Severus replied, closing his eyes again to clear his head of visions of Aislinn.

"Why were you upset earlier?"

"When?" he asked carefully. He'd been upset three times that evening, and he ddn't want to talk about any of them particularly.

"You know," Ron said uneasily. "When you were, you know, crying."

What is it with your fixation over that? Severus thought bitterly. _Don't tell me you have six siblings and none of you ever cry._ He was about to reply that it was none of their business, but Ginny spoke up instead.

"Was it because of Miss Ichalia?" she asked.

"Who?" That was one of the twins, and Severus was glad he wasn't facing them, as the pain at her name was enough to wrench a ragged gasp from him.

"She was the new Divination teacher this past year," Ginny explained. "Much better than Trelawney, and easier to understand than Firenze."

"And what's she got to do with it?"

"She died." This time it was Hermione's voice, and Severus closed his eyes, willing them all to start talking about Mary Poppins again.

"Professor Snape was in love with her," Ginny said softly. "Weren't you, sir?"

He didn't trust himself to speak for a moment, but when he did, it was in a low, caustic tone. "I wasn't under the impression you needed my input in this discussion of my personal life," he hissed, flicking a Billywig into the jar he was holding with more force than was strictly necessary. He twitched with the effort of not detracting points from Gryffindor for impertinence; after all, they weren't at school and he had very little real authority here. "Continue with the Billywigs. And really," he shot venomously, "I would think you could find something more interesting to talk about than your Potions teacher."

He dropped the jar he'd been collecting Billywigs in onto the desk, and stalked out of the room, leaving the students to exchange looks that combined relief and awkwardness in varying degrees. As he shut the door, he heard one of the twins whisper, "Was he really in love?"

It was Harry who answered. "I'm not sure he still isn't."


	5. A decision

Muttering under his breath as he stalked downstairs, Severus was halfway to the landing between the first and second floor when he met Remus coming up the stairs.

"Where are the children?" he asked, and Severus rewarded him with a particularly vituperative glower.

"Immobilizing Billywigs in the study," he replied shortly.

Lupin frowned slightly. "I thought you were…"

"I was," Severus replied. "But unfortunately, I do not have your gift for entertaining their foolishness."

Lupin nodded thoughtfully, and looked so casual about leaning against the wall that Severus could have almost believed that it was coincidence that he was blocking the way down the stairs. Almost. Had it been anyone but Lupin. "You have a remarkable talent for making even a compliment sound like an insult," he commented idly. "What happened?"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "Why is it that suddenly everyone is so interested in what happens to me?" he asked suspiciously, then continued in a softer voice, more to himself than to Remus, "None of you ever gave a damn before today."

Lupin shrugged slightly, his thin shoulders making his tattered robes swish. "Perhaps because today, for the first time in memory, you reminded us all that you are human under all those prickles."

He snorted softly. "And what did you think I was?" he asked. "A vampire? Half the students think that, preposterous though it may be, but I would have given you a bit more credit than that."

"No," Remus replied, "but cruel and heartless might cover it. You've never given anyone any reason to like you, Severus, so don't act offended because no one does."

Severus' eyes narrowed, glittering dangerously in the dim light. "Let me pass."

"No."

"What?" For a moment, Severus was so shocked that his voice held a note of incredulity. "Don't be an idiot, Lupin. Let me by. I have things to do."

"You're not going anywhere until I've had my say. For once in your life, acknowledge that someone else might know what he's talking about."

Like the strike of lightning, Severus whipped out his wand and held it to Remus' head. "Get out of my way," he hissed.

Lupin merely blinked at him. "Or what? You'll kill me? Your quarrel was never with me. You'll hex me into the hereafter? Oh, I've no doubt you could, but you _won't._ Not here. Not over something so trivial as this. You won't even shove me out of the way, will you? Because I might fall down the stairs then, and you don't want that on your conscience."

"I have worse things on my conscience," Severus murmured. "Believe me that I wouldn't notice one more."

Lupin shrugged. "Possibly not, but you'd notice if you harmed one of the few who is on you side. You're not as merciless as you want everyone to think you are."

For a long moment, Severus stared down at Remus, who stared unblinkingly back up at him. His wand did not waver an inch in either direction, and his face was blank as any mask, though the glinting in his eyes should have cowered anyone who didn't have a good reason to be facing him. "Fine," Severus said at last, pocketing his wand as deftly as he'd pulled it out. "Talk if you're going to."

Remus glanced around, and then pointed up the stairs. "Third door on the left," he said.

For a moment, Severus considered telling the werewolf to shove it, but the sound of a door opening upstairs changed his mind and he turned back up to the second floor. He opened the third door on the left, wondering idly what was behind it, but not bothering to speculate since it was his destination. It turned out to be a fairly ordinary, if rather small, bedroom, cramped with a too-large bed and dresser and a pair of armchairs that would have filled the room without another thing in it. He stood just inside the door and waited for Lupin to begin talking. Instead of speaking, though, Remus seated himself in one of the chairs. "Have a seat, Severus," he invited.

"I believe I'll stand," Severus replied coolly.

Remus smiled good-naturedly and nodded, and Severus thought he caught something half-muttered from the other man, but he could not hear the comment, which was probably just as well. Remus took a deep breath and then looked in his direction. "I guess I didn't make myself clear, Severus," he said, his voice still holding the good-natured tone it always did. "You're going to be in here for a bit, so _sit down._"

Severus glared at Lupin, who glared right back. After a moment of wordless, actionless confrontation, Lupin growled softly. "For the love of Merlin's beard, will you put your ass in that chair?"

His mouth twitching into a sneer, Severus counted the little outburst as a win for himself, and then, with all the dignity of a man who had decided sitting was more desireable than standing, Severus walked to the chair and settled himself in it. "Shall I conjure tea and crumpets for us, now?" he asked mockingly. If Lupin heard the question, he didn't acknowledge it, and for a long moment, silence settled between them, leaving the potions master to shift uncomfortably after a minute. "What do you want from me, Lupin?" he asked finally.

Remus sighed softly. "A civilized word or two, for starters. Then maybe an explanation. I've been covering for you all evening, Severus, making your excuses, deflecting questions about what had you so upset. But that's an answer I'd like."

"That is none of your…" Severus began, but stopped. It was probably the truth; it really was none of Lupin's affair, but then, it had also not been Lupin's responsibility to be so… Severus didn't even have a word in his vocabulary for what Lupin had been earlier. Supportive, perhaps, or sympathetic. Maybe it was a kindness. Whatever it was, it was entirely foreign to Severus, and not something he was going to forget any time soon. He hadn't decided entirely if he was grateful to the other man or not. Or if he was beholden to him. But, he did suppose that an explanation wasn't such an outrageous request. Except that his heart protested against being laid open like that. "Fine," he whispered hoarsely. "Is it civilized enough for me to just say I don't wish to discuss it?"

Lupin hesitated, but then nodded. "I suppose so," he replied. "But I'm still asking."

"I have very good reasons for not wanting to talk about it," Severus replied evenly.

"All right. What sort of reasons do you think are so good?"

Severus' mouth tightened. "Mainly because I don't wish to discuss it," he answered obtusely.

"For fuck's sake, Severus, do you know how to give a straight answer?" Remus looked exasperated and frustrated, and oddly, that placated Severus somewhat. Enough that his lip curled into a sneer.

"Tsk, tsk, Remus. Such language." His sneer fell away, though, as it took too much effort to maintain it. With a sigh, Severus stood and walked to the window, moving the curtain aside and looking out into Muggle London. Slowly, the lump in his throat began to melt. "I don't wish to talk about it," he said softly, "because the pain is still fresh in that heart no one thinks I have. Maybe in a few days, or weeks, or lifetimes it will ease and I will be able to speak of it."

He heard a slight rustling behind him, and then a hand on his shoulder. "You cannot hold pain inside, Severus. It has to go somewhere. Believe me when I say that it will go somewhere eventually, and it will be easier if you face it now, when you still have some measure of control over where it goes."

Severus stiffened slightly, and when Lupin finished his little speech, he replied with the one thing at the forefront of his mind. "Please do not touch me," he whispered, almost dangerously. There was a moment's hesitation, and the hand that had been on his shoulder lifted. Severus watched the street below for a long moment, and then finally he turned around to face the other man. "I lost a friend today," he said at last. "Or rather, I was forced to face the loss I've been ignoring since January. And that was enough. You were in the kitchen when I told the order about the massacre planned. Named for me. That would have been enough," he whispered, his voice beginning to grow hoarse. "The day has been trying, and I was…" he paused, considering what word to use. Frightened? Certainly, but not to tears. Grieving? Doubtlessly, but he had been greiving for four months already. "Vulnerable," he settled. "My defenses were weak. But I would have regained some of my strength had you left me alone. I just needed a moment to recover some of my composure." Lupin placed a hand on his arm again, and once more, Severus jerked away. "I asked you not to touch me," he said softly.

"Why don't you want me to touch you?" Remus asked, but he folded his arms.

"Because I'm afraid that's all it will take to reduce me to a blubbering baby once more," Severus relied bluntly, and honestly. "Leave me what is left of my dignity."

"Did you stop to think that if the sorrow is that strong that you might need to release it?"

"To what end? It doesn't change the fact that she's dead, and it doesn't help us find a way to save innocent lives, does it? I have neither the time nor energy, nor inclination in all honesty, to sit and cry in anyone's arms over things I can't change. Leave it, Lupin. Let me worry about my heart, you worry about… whatever it is you worry about. By the by, did Dumbledore convince you all to allow the children into the meetings?"

Lupin nodded quietly, apparently finished arguing. "Yes, he did."

"Do they know yet?"

"Not unless someone else told them. I was headed up to fetch them."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Then hadn't you bst be about it?"

Lupin shrugged. "A few minutes won't make much of a difference," he replied. "And I thought you might…"

A dangerous glare crept into Severus' eyes. "I might what?" he asked in a low voice.

"You might need a friend," Lupin replied. "I made that offer in December. It still stands, Severus."

For a long moment, Severus was quiet. He finally whispered, "Fine. Next time I see you in Hogsmeade, I'll buy you a drink at the Hogshead. Until then, however…" He turned and walked out the door.

As he headed for the stairs, Severus heard Lupin mutter, "We need to work on your people skills."

* * *

Enough, he thought sourly as he strode down the stairs in a fury of black robes. _I have had enough of this nonsense for one night. And the worst of it is that in a few minutes I'm probably going to wake up in my own bed and find that not a minute of it was real, and I'll still have the entire day ahead of me to dread._ It had been a surreal day, everything about it had been just short of preposterous. He'd been off guard and off kilter since he woke up, and it was beginning to addle his brains to the point that now, dream or not, he was determined it was going to end _immediately._ He burst into the kitchen, sending the door flying against the wall, and did not slow his menacing advance until he was at the fireplace, bowl of Floo powder in his hand.

"Severus?" He was too enraged to the point of insensibility that he didn't even pause to consider who had said his name.

"BLOODY FUCKING HELL! WHAT DO YOU WANT?" he turned around, his glittering eyes falling dangerously on the one who'd spoken, and he was simultaneously flooded with relief that it had not been Dumbledore he'd snapped at and a certain consternation that it had been Molly.

A Molly who looked taken aback. With an Arthur appearing behind her, his normally affable expression hardening as he placed a hand on her shoulder. There was silent shock everywhere else in the room; no one spoke that way to Molly Weasley. The only people who didn't like the Weasleys were slimes like the Malfoys who were too cultured to have such words in their vocabulary.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Molly," he said sincerely. And he was. Such outbursts were uncharacteristic for him. There were students who swore he had a nasty temper, but even they, when prodded about it, could seldom remember him actually losing it. In fact, in his years teaching, he thought he could count on fingers and toes the times he'd lost his temper in front of _anyone_, and on one hand the times it had happened in front of students. The only of his students who could have come up with enough examples to justify such a statement were upstairs right now; Harry Potter had certainly borne the brunt of his explosions in the last few years.

The silence in the room lingered, and all eyes were on Molly, seeing how she would react to the apology, and Severus knew that her reaction would probably dictate the attitudes of everyone in the room towards him for the next six months, if not longer. She reached her decision, though, and smiled, bustling towards him. "There, there, you've had a long day, my dear. No need to apologize." Severus released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

To his irritation, Molly took the Floo powder from him and led him to the table, where he sat, hoping that whatever maternal ministrations she thought necessary weren't going to take too much time. He was beginning to feel simply _raw_, and he needed to be away from this place, full of people who cared too bloody much for their own good. A moment later, Severus had a cup of tea in his hand and a plate of pie in front of him, and Molly was commanding him to eat. He sipped at the tea, and sputtered softly as the faint taste of firewhiskey touched his tongue.

"I thought you could use something to help you relax a bit," she told him.

Nodding and refraining from rolling his eyes, Severus murmured, "Thank you," and sipped again, expecting the edge this time. She'd been expecting him downstairs, then. Of course. Lupin had not actually come upstairs to talk to him, but to fetch the children, and, presumably him as well. Bill confirmed this as he cleared his throat, speaking in a tight voice that made Severus think that Molly's oldest son might be the one least likely to forgive him the outburst.

"Where are the kids?"

You mean the ones other than the two at this table? Severus thought sourly. Bill and Tonks were _too bloody young_ for this. "Speaking with Lupin, I suppose," he replied. There were a few raised eyebrows, and Severus elaborated only slightly. "I was in the hall when Lupin was headed up. I left him to it." Close enough to the truth, and if that bloody werewolf offered any ore explantion, Severus thought he just _might_ put one more person on his conscience.

"Did he tell you, then?" This was Arthur speaking, and Severus looked at him over the top of his teacup.

"That those six dunderheads are going to be in on the meetings from now on? Yes."

Molly's expression tightened again, and Severus realized belatedly that four of those six dunderheads were hers. He gave her a diffident shrug, but wasn't about to apologize for saying it. "It's hard to accept that half a dozen children who can't follow simple directions in class are going to be trusted with Order business," he said dismissively. "I hope, for all our sakes, that I'm wrong about them."

Though not an apology and certainly not an excuse, the explanation seemed to appease Molly. Arthur was smiling, at least. "Children have an alarming ability to surprise us, Severus. They seem to have an inherent understanding of what is important, at least to them, and to perform admirably."

Severus snorted softly. "It doesn't worry you, then, that your entire family is so deeply involved?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Arthur stood and moved to the other side of the table, seating himself beside Severus. _If you touch me, you old coot, I'm going to dump this tea over your head,_ Severus thought , rather petulantly. To his immense relief, though, Arthur did not reach for his hand or his arm or his shoulder or any other part of his body.

"It worries me until I don't think I'll be able to sleep at night," he replied. "But I am proud of them all. They've turned out as I hoped the would, if a little sooner than I hoped it would happen. It seems only yesterday that I was trying to figure out what the hell to do with a diaper, and now that one is sitting across the table from you." Severus glanced across the table at Bill, who seemed to be blushing under those freckles, though it was hard to tell. "Children grow up, it's a fact of life and nature, and we can't stop it and shouldn't try," Arthur continued. "And we can't dictate when it happens. Some of us have been forced to grow up far too quickly." There was something about Arthur's tone that made Severus think he was included in that assessment, and, with a slight shock, he realized that Arthur was probably fifteen years his senior, if not more. It wasn't something he thought about often, his age compared to others around him. His students were all, and would always all be, children to him, even those who were near enuogh his own age to be his classmates. And there were plenty who were. He knew that Arthur didn't see him as a child now—that was an insecurity Severus had abandoned not long after he began teaching—but twenty years ago… yes. Severus had been a child still, barely older than Harry and Ron, and Arthur would have already been a father of three. It was always odd to put these things into perspective.

Before Severus could formulate a response to the observation, the door opened again, and Severus didn't have to look up to know that the number of people in the kitchen had just swelled by seven. The silence that settled was apprehensive, and the air pulsated with the same question, asked by so many people each in a different way, Severus included.

Was this really the right decision?

Ginny seated herself by Bill, which meant that Severus had an excellent view of her face. Too young by far. It was easy to forget that she was only a year younger than any of the others—and not even a full year younger than Harry—but she was the youngest, which meant that she seemed even younger than her tender years. How old was she, anyway? He frowned momentarily, thinking that over. She was in his Fifth Year class. She had just finished her OWLs. _Far too young._

Beside Ginny was Hermione, and, as Severus looked over her, he couldn't help but realize that she had blossomed into a remarkable young woman. Young, certainly, but there was a womanly aspect to her that was still absent in Ginny. Hermione had a sharp mind, and an ability that was unmatched at Hogwarts. She was still inexperienced, but Severus was sure that time would see her as a stunningly powerful witch in her own right. _If she lives long enough to hone that natural ability._ The liklihood of that happening seemed to have decreased exponentially almost instantly, as soon as she took her place at the table. Really, though, it was not Hermione that Severus worried about. She was young, yes, but she was not a fool. She was the one he was least worried about, and, with her at least, the worry was a matter of principle.

The twins were sitting at the end of the table, their heads already bent together, and Severus could only imagine that they were plotting something already. Of the six, those two had the most to offer the Order, certainly. He had to admit, even if it was grudgingly, that Fred and George were probably capable of taking care of themselves. After all, how often had they evaded capture at Hogwarts, when their fate would have only been detention? How often had they impressed their teachers on some level—him included—with their innovative ways of using what they learned in class? A smile still threatened Severus' lips when he thought about the swamp that had been charmed into existence last year, and he still marveled secretly at their array of candies that produced everything from nose-bleeds to fevers. Given a serious task, they might well live up to the challenge. He only hoped they didn't try to prank the Dark Lord. A sudden mental image of them trying to pass off one of their mildly amusing candies to him was enough to sober any inclination Severus might have had towards smiling, and he hoped—he _prayed_—that they had the sense to differntiate between potential victims of jokes and the seriousness of what they were to be charged with.

But it was Harry and Ron who caught his eye and made him him wish he had protested more fervently. They were both everything that the Dark Lord would prey on, and neither of them had anything to protect them. They were reckless, heedless, inattentive, easily distracted and did not bother to think about _anything_ before barging in. They were blindly loyal to one another, and frighteningly naïve, and, judging by the conversations he'd overheard between them, immature still. When Hermione wasn't there keeping them on the task of school work, and when there was no plot that they were trying to get to the bottom of, those two were likely to be talking about Quidditch and eating chocolate frogs and playing at cards. They horsed around in the corridors, and spun ridiculous fantasies about House Cups and seeing Draco Malfoy pay for his past crimes against them. They were, truly, only boys. Harry had been thrown into this world, into a world he didn't understand and was ill-prepared to face, and Ron seemed to desire nothing more than to prove himself in the shadow of five older brothers. And, if Severus thought of it, he could understand that desire to prove oneself. And, if he were honest, it was not unlikely that those two boys would grow into fine men someday. If they survived the labyrinth they were now being drawn into. A possibility that Severus hated to consider the odds of.

"So, mum," one of the twins broke the silence, and Severus glanced towards them, having, once again, missed which one was speaking. It was so difficult to tell them apart, even though he'd had them in classes for seven years. There were subtle differences, but you had to look for them, and at this distance and angle, he could not even see them. And he certainly couldn't tell their voices apart. "Since we're here, and you admit that we're all adults, right?" Severus felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach; he'd been wondering how long it would take before one of them played that card.

"You're still grounded," Molly said evenly, "so don't try that 'adult' bit on me."

Good for you, Molly, he thought. Then Ron piped up.

"So, if we're adults, does that mean we can drink beer now?" Severus scowled at him, and Ron hastily added, "when we're in the meetings, I mean."

There was a twitter from the end of the table, and Severus thought it was Tonks trying not to laugh. Molly smiled sweetly. "You can drink the same thing everyone else is drinking, Ronald," she told him, and plunked a cup of tea in front of him. "There," she said. "Just like Professor Snape."

Severus took a sip of his tea and wished Molly had left him out of it, and speculated that it was unlikely that Ron's tea was _just_ like his. He nearly shuddered to imagine an inebriated Ron Weasley.

"You children have not become adults by walking into this kitchen," Arthur was addressing the four younger of them, primarily, and Severus found himself listening intently, despite the little lecture not being for him. "You are still children, but we are asking you to do adults' work. To take on responsibilities that we have no right to ask you to take on. And, any one of you—or all of you—can opt not to help us, and there is no one here who would not understand. I think we are _all_ in agreement that you are too young for this, but these are desperate times and we would be fools to discount you completely because you are not old enough to suit our definitions of grown-ups."

Please, Severus thought desperately in the direction of the four students, _for once in your lives, have the sense to say no. It won't mean that you're cowards, just that you are not fools._

Dumbledore spoke then, for the first time since Severus had entered the kitchen. "You do have a choice," he was saying in that infuriatingly calm voice. "You can leave now, and no one will think less of you." It was as though the Headmaster was speaking the words that Severus had been thinking. "It is your choice. Do you understand that? All of you? It is your choice, but I must have you answer now. If you choose not to help us tonight, that does not mean you never will, but once you choose to enter the Order, there is no going back."

Severus stole a glance at the four of them, and all were nodding their understanding. Ron and Harry looked eager, which was enough to sink Severus' heart. Ginny looked frightened, but determined. A point in her favor and then one against. Hermione looked uncertain. _How ironic that the one most prepared to take this step is the one who looks like she might not accept the challenge. But then, that is what makes her the more prepared for this, isn't it?_

"Then I will have your answers."

Harry was the first to speak, and it hardly surprised Severus to hear his words. "I'll help any way I can," he said adamantly, and Dumbledore nodded.

"Me too," Ron said quickly, looking slightly abashed at not having been first to volunteer. "I'm not afraid."

"Then you're more a fool than I thought." Severus couldn't help but pass that judgement as he turned his eyes to the two girls.

Ginny took a deep breath, and nodded. "I'm in," she said softly, and then impressed him marginally. "And I promise I'll do what I'm told and not interfere."

Which left only Hermione who was quiet. Ron was looking at her with wide eyes and an expression that clearly said 'Tell them you're in, too!' She was thinking, though, and Severus didn't know if he hoped she would agree or not. She was probably the only one who could keep Harry and Ron from doing anything foolish, and she was, he believed, the most mature of the lot of them. Probably even more so than Fred and George. But she was still a _child._

"Hermione?" Dumbledore prompted. "If you have doubts, you may leave and give me your answer later. You needn't decide just now if you are unsure."

She finally spoke. "I am sure," she said softly. "I'll help if I can."

It was as though a door had slammed shut and the flicker of hope extinguished. Severus closed his eyes. _What have we done?_


	6. Trying to forget

The meeting of minds in the kitchen at Twelve Grimmauld place lasted almost three hours, and it was after midnight before Severus finally Flooed himself into his office at Hogwarts. The discussion had been ultimately unprofitable, though he had to admit that the twins were already living up to expectations. It had taken perhaps half an hour to bring them all up to speed, and to explain everything that had been happening, and even after the explanation there were still questions in the children's eyes. And horror. Severus could only hope that Ron would find a way to bring his horrified expression under control before the next time they had to face each other in a classroom or in the Great Hall, because the youngest Weasley boy had taken to looking at him like he'd just announced that he would be singlehandedly ridding the world of 90% of the babies born in the next three weeks.

It isn't my bloody fault that the Dark Lord thinks he's going to have a massacre in my name, he thought sourly as he dusted off the remnants of the Floo traveling and glanced around his office to make sure nothing was out of place. As he let himself out and then reapplied the wards, Severus thought over the suggestions Fred and George had come up with.

Those two were a veritable fountain of ideas, and, even if only one in twenty was plausible, the sheer volume almost guaranteed something worth considering. And their first several suggestions had ranged from impossible to impossible given the logistics to just plain stupid. But then they'd suggested something that had taken Severus aback slightly—a Marauders' Map of England, more or less. It had been an intriguing idea, and certainly one that was being considered. Not a map of everyone in England, of course, but if it could be pared down to only show certain peoples' whereabouts… Unfortunately, Remus did not know how James and Sirius had made the map, and even Dumbledore had been perplexed by it, but the twins thought they had an idea and were planning to try something for tomorrow's meeting.

Tomorrow's meeting. Bloody hell. If it wasn't bad enough that he had to attend those meetings after the Death Eater meetings, now it seemed he was to be included in the next several of them, whether he was summoned to the Dark Lord's side or not.

Barring the success of the map idea, Hermione had suggested something almost as inspired. Severus had known about the "DA" meetings last year, as had Dumbledore and McGonagall and a number of other people. What they had not known was how the students knew when to meet, but, Hermione and Harry had exchanged meaningful glances, then launched into an explanation about coins that changed the words when Harry changed the words on his coin. But, interesting though the idea had been, Severus had been forced to shake his head. Just when was he supposed to take the time from a Death Eater summons to charm a coin into revealing his location? Hermione had delfated slightly at that, and Severus could tell that she'd been hoping she had the brilliant idea that would save the day. Harry, however, had made an off-handed comment, "Too bad we can't just wire you and make it a sting operation."

And, while Harry spent the next ten minutes trying to explain to everyone what that meant, precisely (apparently something to do with cameras, microphones and transmitting devices that could be attached to a person, and then a very dramatic swooping in of highly trained people to get the bad guys—Severus thought Harry had been watching too much of that Muggle television contraption) Hermione had been thinking. Very carefully, apparently. Severus could see the wheels turning in her mind. When she spoke finally, her words had been almost thoughtful. "Why not?" And, when all heads had turned towards her, she'd repeated it. Why couldn't they attach a very small camera to Severus somehow, and charm it so that a coin or something would show his location? Which would work, provided it was an easily recognizeable location. But if it was just a field somewhere… Hermione had nodded thoughtfully, and Severus knew she wasn't finished with the idea, and he hoped she came up with something feasible.

Ron had not made a single contribution other than his horrified expression until this point, and when he did finally open his mouth, he very nearly found himself in severe trouble. His suggestion had been rude and malicious, essentially that Severus should just tell the Dark Lord that he was a spy and that the Order was on its way. To bluff, apparently. Dumbledore had refused flat out to even consider such a thing, and everone else at the table had been equally adamant. Even Moody had admitted that there was too great a risk for no certain gain, though Severus had little doubt that Moody wouldn't be upset to see him sacrifice himself. Severus had been quiet until the outrage settled, then assured Ron quietly, "If I thought it would work, I wouldn't hesitate. But the Dark Lord is not so easily fooled." There hadn't been another word from Ron all night.

Ginny, after almost two hours of complete silence, had asked the question that ended the meeting. What would happen if they didn't stop the attack? All eyes had been on Severus as he replied, coldly and matter-of-factly, that the victims would prvide blood for the Death Eaters' consumption until they died. No one had seemed interested in further conversation after that, and finally they'd adjourned.

When he reached the door to his personal quarters, which contrary to popular speculation were nowhere near the dungeons, Severus paused. The portrait over the door was of an alchemist, the lamp on his desk burning low as he bent over a bubbling flask of brilliantly red liquid.

"Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim," Severus said, and the alchemist swung the door open absently, still watching the flask, and Severus stepped into his study, shutting the door with a sigh.

"Long day, dear?"

Severus glanced at the painting that had spoken, an elderly woman who was reading a book. Of the few paintings that hung in Severus' rooms, that one was very likely his favorite, and he'd secured a painting of a librarian with rows of books so that she would have other tomes to read. And, he noticed often, she took advantage of that gesture. The book she was putting down now was not the study of Asian plants he had last seen her reading.

"Very long," he replied. "Do you want me to leave the lamp burning?"

She gestured at the faint light in her painting. "No, dear, not unless you want it on."

"Good night," he replied, walking into his sitting room. There were no paintings in there, save a soothing landscape mountain scene. He'd never seen a mountain, and always thought he'd like to someday. Just now, the mountain was bathed in moonlight, and it looked serene and peaceful, yet cold.

Shrugging out of his cloak, he draped the fabric over the back of a chair, then went to the sideboard, pouring himself a liberal draught of cognac. He held the bowl of the glass in his hand, letting the heat from his body warm the fragrant liquid, and walked slowly around the perimeter of the room, pausing here and there to straighten something that only he would think in need of straightening.

Shelves lined the entire east wall of the room, and those shelves were all filled with books that he'd acquired over the years. Many of them were tomes about potions, or potion ingredients, and there was an entire shelf dedicated to herbology, but not everything on the shelves was so practical. On the bottom, maybe four feet from the corner and stretching nearly eight feet along the floor, was a collection of Muggle poetry, which he dearly loved to read at times. Muggles had a fascinating brand of imagination, and the most imaginative of their authors and poets sometimes crept so close to the truth that it was frightening. Three shelves up from the poetry, nestled between a battered copy of Bathilda Bagshott's _A History of Magic_ and the newest edition of _Hogwarts: A History_, there was an art book, full of vivildy colorful paintings by a Muggle named Van Gogh. Severus found those fascinating, and his fascination was further borne out by the painter's biography, which graced the top shelf. He knew where all his favorite books were without looking for them, which was just as well, given his tendency to bury them between boring books so that anyone silly enough to look at his shelves would, hopefully, gaze past them.

He knelt, running a fingertip over the spines of the books on the second shelf from the bottom, and after a moment, his finger stopped on a dark blue book with silver script on the spine. _The Magic of a Moment_, it said, and Severus paused there, looking at it. He'd never read it, and he wasn't sure he ever would, but it was meaningful to him. Aislinn had given it to him as one of her birthday gifts to him. Now, as he touched it, he could almost see her eyes sparkling in the dim light, dancing with laughter.

What's this? He'd asked her. She had smiled one of her infectuous smiles and replied, _It's a book of charms. A Muggle book of charms. It's full of myths and legends._ He'd flipped through it, and found that it was, indeed. The history of the wishing well. The origin of shooting star lore. The legend of the four-leaf clover. He'd smiled a genuine smile and shook his head. _You're going to make a believer of me yet, aren't you?_ he had asked her softly. _I'm going to do everything in my power to,_ she had replied.

Severus stood abruptly and decided that he wasn't in the mood to read after all. Taking a sip of the cognac, he walked over to the fireplace, rubbing his thumb over a smudge on the marble. Satisfied that it was gone, he glanced at the mantle before turning away, and he stopped. There, on the walnut mantle, was a simple stone. Irregularly shaped, nearly black, flecked with silver, it could have been any rock, but it was not.

She stepped into his rooms and placed aside a package that she'd been holding in her hands, then wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close to her. As they embraced, Severus found it hard to believe that he'd ever doubted her, even having seen what he did. There had to be some logical explanation, but he wasn't going to ask her for it. He was going to believe in her, and trust her and…

"I've missed you," she murmured, and he was drawing her to the chair.

"I've missed you, too," he whispered, leaning forward to kiss her. She pulled back, though, and placed a finger over his lips.

"I have something for you," she said softly, and he frowned slightly, reaching behind him to pull the stool forward and settling onto it.

"Whatever it is," he whispered, "I'd rather have you."

She laughed softly, and ducked out of the chair, and retrieved the package she'd brought in with her, and placed it in his hands. It wasn't terribly large, small enough to hold in one hand, in fact. It wasn't precisely heavy, but it was solid-feeling. Wrapped in emerald-green paper and tied with a big silver bow, it looked almost surreal. Particularly in his sitting room, where there was no other indication that Christmas was tomorrow.

"I didn't get you anything," he whispered softly, staring at the box.

Aislinn smiled and placed three fingers under his chin, lifting his face. "That isn't the point," she whispered back. "Now open it."

He hesitated, and felt her eyes on him as he ran a fingertip over the ribbon. Without looking at her, he answered the unspoken question. "I don't remember the last time…" he trailed off, feeling a lump in his throat. He did actually remember the last time someone had given him a Christmas present, but he didn't want to think about that.

Aislinn's moved to the floor, kneeling at his side, her hand on his arm. "Open it," she urged gently, and, finally, he tugged at the ribbon and slid his fingertip under the tape holding down the edge of the package. The paper fell away to reveal a plain cardboard box, which he opened slowly, peering inside. He paused as the light fell on the object within.

"It's a rock," he stated the obvious, quite obviously confused. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand, frowning in concentration. It was an interesting enough rock, to be sure, but it was… a rock. Dark, flecked with something that shimmered, slightly charred looking, as though it had been pulled from a fire. He looked up at her, and she was grinning broadly.

"Not a rock," she replied, leaning over to kiss the end of his nose (which was enough to momentarily startle him out of his confusion over the rock).

"Then what is it?" he asked, and she touched his fingers softly, leaning her head against his.

"It's a shooting star," she whispered softly. His face must have given away his continued confusion, because she explained further. "A meteorite. One that actually hit the earth. So you will always have physical proof of a shooting star."

He laughed suddenly, then clamped his mouth shut, afraid he would offend her, but she was grinning too. "Well," he said, "it still remains to be seen if I can wish on it and the wish comes true."

"And!" she said suddenly, standing. She pulled her wand from her pocket and pointed it at the meteorite, then placed her hand on it and whispered, "Portricus." The next thing Severus knew, he was standing in the middle of Aislinn's bedroom, the meteorite cupped in both their hands.

It was also a portkey, and a simple incantation would still transport him to her room. Of course, she would not be there now.

He took another sip of his cognac and turned away from the fireplace, studiously ignoring the mirror above the mantle; he'd little doubt he looked like death warmed over, and he didn't want to see it. Not now. He could feel it, and that was bad enough. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he moved away from the fireplace. Settling into a chair, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, attempting to clear his mind. He'd never had trouble clearing his mind, not since the first time he ever managed to do it; it was a trick that took a great deal of effort to master, but was surprisingly easy after one got the hang of it. To his frustration, though, it did not come easily tonight, so he resorted to an old imagery technique from his early days of learning it. He imagined a black hole in the middle of his mind, and began systematically poking his thoughts and memories into it.

In went the Weasley twins and their Wheezes. In went Harry Potter and Hermione Granger and Mary Poppins and tea parties on the ceiling. In went the Billywigs and the Dark Lord's burning eyes and the musky, smoky smell of insense. In went Dumbledore and his Muggle prayer of serenity. Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody, Molly and Arthur, Tonks and Bill. The Death Eaters, Snape's Massacre, Amber Carlisle and Autumn… he'd already succeeded in forgetting her last name. He fed his thoughts into the black hole in his mind, and one by one, they left him, until all he had was Aislinn swimming around in his head. He drew a ragged breath and tried to prod her into the hole, but she protested.

It appeared that the entire universe had come crashing to the floor of that classroom, and right in the middle of it, blinking as though stunned, was a young woman with thick dark hair that hung lopsided out of what had likely once been a bun of some sort. A bookshelf was lying on the floor, books and papers scattered everywhere, and a chair was toppled behind her, the desk it belonged with sitting slightly askance. All around her, spheres of different sizes and colors were rolling slightly back and forth, and, when he squinted he could see nearly invisible threads draped over her, like a spider's web.

"Are you hurt?" he asked in his soft voice that commanded attention.

The woman blinked owlishly up at him, and shook her head, though he wasn't sure if she was answering him or trying to clear her mind, but as she squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again, he decided it was the latter. She had almost the look of a woman trying to decide if she was looking at a ghost or flesh and blood, and it was marginally disarming. "Are you injured?" he asked again, sweeping his robes out of the way as he stepped over the debris to kneel in front of her. He reached out, his fingertips brushing her cheek as he turned her head to him, and he was certain that time that there was a flicker of something across her eyes. Recognition, perhaps?

"Pr-, erm. Hello," she offered, leaning back a bit and ducking away from his touch. He let his hand drop away from her face, and she seemed to regain a bit of her senses. "I'm fine," she answered at last, and placed her hand on the floor, to brace herself to rise, but winced instead.

He reached for the hand and picked it up, turning it over in his own, palm up, to find a shard of glass imbedded in it. Again, something crossed her face, this time a shadow of fear, perhaps, and she made a feeble attempt to pull her hand away from him. Most men would have likely let go, just knowing that she was pulling away, but Severus tightened his grip instead. "Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked as he fished into his pocket with his free hand and brought out a linen handkerchief, which he wrapped around her hand and tied tightly.

"I'm fine," she repeated, this time sounding a bit more sure of herself. "Thank you for your concern, though. I'll just..." she didn't finish her sentence before beginning to rise, but her hand was still caught in his, and he prevented her from standing.

"You're sure, Miss--?" His lips thinned marginally. That was actually a very good question. Who was she? She looked too old to be one of the students, and besides, he made it a point to know all the Hogwarts students by name. He had to; he taught them all eventually. This one, though, despite looking vaguely familiar, was not one of his students, of that he was sure.

"Ichalia," she replied, using her free hand to move her hair gracefully out of her eyes. "Aislinn Ichalia. I am the new divination teacher."

He lifted his glass to his mouth and leaned his head back, tipping the entire contents down his throat, like pouring lava over hot coals. When he opened his eyes again, the room was still there, as was the memory, though not quite so brilliant. He stood and went back to the sideboard, reaching for the cognac again. His hand hovered momentarily over the crystal decanter, but his eyes were on a bottle of sherry, and once again, the memory mounted.

He had been edging closer to her for the past fifteen minutes, moving his hand by degrees, giving her every chance to move away, and when she did, it tore at his pride. She only moved as far as the wine bottle, though, and then settled again. "More?" she asked, holding up the bottle, and he nodded, offering his own glass.

She steadied the bottom of the glass with her fingertips and tipped the bottle, but he suddenly stopped her, his hand over hers. "You don't have the slightest idea what you're doing, do you?" he asked softly, and she stared at him for a moment.

"I'm pouring…" she stated the obvious, and he laughed softly, making her eyes flash indignantly.

"I can see that," he whispered. He took the bottle from her hand and picked up her glass, tilting it towards the bottle, then tipping the bottle slightly. "Wine is not punpkin juice, Miss Ichalia," he chided softly, and, from her silence, he assumed this was news to her. He continued in a silen voice. "You don't simply splash it into a glass. It requires more care. More subtlty." The golden liquid flooded gently from the bottle, cascading down the side of the glass and pooling in the bottom, and he tilted the bottle deftly away, stemming the flow, then held up the glass to the light.

"Sherry isn't so prone to bruising as other wines," he said softly, "but all wine is delicate." He put the bottle back in her hand, then moved to sit behind her, and reached forward, picking up his own glass and wrapping her fingers around it. "Tilt the glass towards the bottle," he whispered against her ear. She tilted the bottle a bit, but not enough by half, so he reached around her, tilting the bottle more sharply, then moved his other hand around hers, urging the glass to tilt as well. "Then bring the mouth of the bottle almost to the rim of the glass, but not touching it," he instructed, and, as if on cue, the musical tinkling of glass against glass tickled his ears and he smiled. "It's all right," he said, reassuring her softly, "slowly… there." He smiled as the liquid began to slip silkily from the bottle, swirling to a rest in the bottom of the glass. "No more than three-fourths full," he told her, his finger indicating a place on the glass, "but at least two-thirds. And slowly tilt the bottle back again…" He reached forward and took the glass from her, his fingers curling casually around the bowl, the stem dangling between his fingers. "Perfect," he breathed into her ear.

He set the bottle aside, and she was still in his arms, not moving, but he didn't know what to do with her. He'd never even tried to seduce a woman before; his limited experience with them falling more on the side of force than subtle convincing, and it had been years since he'd done even that. Her hair smelled of a heady, spicy scent that was far more intoxicating than the wine, and her nearness stirred something in him that he'd long assumed dead. It wasn't just his body, but every fiber of his being that was responding to her. And, the bittersweet knowledge that she wanted nothing more than friendship from him. The frustration was almost palpable.

Suddenly, she leaned back against him, and he stiffened, sruprised at the gsture, wary of tricks. "Are you afraid of me?" she asked him softly, looking up into his eyes. She pulled his hand around her waist, and reached for the other hand. He was still holding his sherry glass, though a little urging from her fingers was enough to make him set it aside. Both his arms were circling her waist now.

"Not precisely," he whispered softly.

She crossed her arms and touched his elbows, drawing his arms more tightly around her. "Then what is it?" she asked quietly.

You're teasing me, he thought almost bitterly. **Don't tease. It's cruel**. She had to know the effect she was having on him, and he struggled to keep his composure. And to find an answer to her question. "I suppose," he replied at last, "that I'm unsure what you want from me. It hasn't been long at all since you were telling me you had no interest…"

She nodded, and for a long, awful moment, she was quiet, and he was afraid she was going to stand and stomp out of the room. She did not, though. "God help me, Severus," she whispered into the air, staring at the fire, "I'm not sure I know what I want from you either."

The glass he was holding slipped through his fingers, and it hit the stone floor, shattering. For a moment, he stared at it, his lips dry as parchment, and then he turned away. This was torture. He'd thought it was bad earlier in the evening, when everyone he looked at had that damnable sympathy in their eyes, but this was far worse, and for the first time in his life, he wished there was someone else with him. Anyone. He wished he had Aislinn with him, of course, but barring that, anyone would do. Albus. Remus. Even that brat, Potter.

Remember, though, that you know the password to my office. Put that knowledge to use, Severus.

For a moment, he considered it. He considered going to Dumbledore's office, but after a hesitation, he decided against it. After all, generous though the invitation had been, he doubted it was intended for half past one in the morning, which was what the clock was chiming softly now. And, that was largely the same reason he wouldn't return to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, though something told him that Remus wouldn't mind being woken. With a sigh, he moved into his bedroom, and unbuttoned the green shirt he was still wearing. No one had commented on it all night, but it was unusual for him to be dressed so. He had forgotten about it.

As he tossed the shirt aside and began unbuttoning his trousers, he suddenly remembered the vial in his pocket, and he removed it, holding it up to the faint light. A small, cylindrical tube of pale grey powder; it could have been anything. It was all he had left of her now, except the memories he wished he could forget. He placed the vial of ashes on his bedside table and sat on the bed, easing off his shoes and socks, and then standing to shed himself of the pants. He gathered the clothes and moved to the wardrobe, tossing them into the bottom of it and reaching in, intending to pull out the flannel nightshirt he slept in when he wasn't in Aislinn's arms. Which was always now. His hand went to one of his black robes instead, though, and after a moment, he pulled it on. He didn't really want to go to bed just now, anyway. Not yet. Not until he thought he could without falling into an abyss of sorrow.

After pocketing his wand, he walked silently through his rooms and emerged back into the corridor, looking around. He was accustomed to prowling the corridors at night, and perhaps it would take his mind off Aislinn. It didn't take him long, though, to discover just how many places he had been with her. They had laughed in the entrance hall, and enjoyed a picnic in the astronomy tower. He'd walked the path between the dungeons and her classroom, between his rooms and hers so many times that those routes were ingrained in his mind and deeply entwined with her memory. The entire castle seemed to whisper of her, to remind him of where they had been and what they had done, not that he needed help remembering. He needed help forgetting.

Finally, his meanderings took him to the Slytherin Common Room, and, muttering the password "Aconite" to the portrait guarding the entrance, he stepped inside. It was one place where her memory wouldn't follow him, surely. He looked around the opulently furnished room, running his hand over the green velvet that upholstered sofas and chairs as he walked past them. The fire had burned almost to ashes, and only the faintest glow illuminated the room. Making a slow circuit, he paused here to straighten a stack of books, there to pick up a piece of parchment that someone had dropped. The room was empty of life, as he'd expected since it was so late, but there were whispers everywhere of the people who occupied it during waking hours. Idly, he walked to the bulletin board, and leafed through the announcements tacked to it—schedules and notices, rules and resources. Someone had included a list of the "Top Ten Reasons Gryffindor Sucks" and Severus read the first two before shaking his head and turning away. Finally, he settled onto the sofa in front of the fire, and stared into that gaping black void for a long moment before pointing is wand at it. "Incendio," he murmured, and the flames roared back to life.

As he stared at them, he found himself drifting back, not six months as he'd been so wont to do all evening, but twenty years. Back to when he was a student and had spent many a night sitting by this fire, reading a book. Avoiding everyone else when he possibly could. Trying not to draw attention. Usually succeeding.

The sound of a door opening brought his attention to the doors to the dormitories, and he frowned slightly at the girls' door standing slightly ajar. A small, dark-haired figure emerged from the shadows, apparently oblivious to his presence. She was wrapped in a dark green dressing gown, and shivering slightly; he noted distantly that she was barefoot. But it was having his attention locked to that door that made him realize that even here he could not escape Aislinn's memory. He had seen her coming out of that door once before, and it had been then, demanding an explanation, that they'd finally begun to talk to one another. To really talk.

But it wasn't Aislinn now who had emerged from that door. It was Amber, her sister. He watched for several silent moments as the girl looked around, and then closed the door softly, tiptoeing to the chair nearest the fire, still having yet to give any indication that she knew he was there. Finally, he cleared his throat softly, and she whipped around to face him. He didn't move from his seat on the couch.

"Why are you out of bed?" he asked softly.

* * *

_A/N:_

_Thank you for your flattering reviews, both of you. _

_And incidentally, anyone who read Still Waters is probably picking up that my approach this time is very different. I'm using this story as an exercise in character relationships (not just romantic ones) so I'm really working on putting Snape into contact with a lot of different people whom he will feel differently about. I'd love to hear everyone's takes on how he responds to various people._

_Also, along the same lines… this isn't developing into any kind of 'ship' necessarily. There is no Snape/Lupin in the works, and no Snape/Hermione and nothing else of that sort. If (and that's a big if at this point) I develop a romantic relationship anywhere, it will be Snape with another female OC._


	7. A moment of unaccustomed tenderness

Amber's eyes flew open wide, and she jumped away from the chair she had been about to sit in. "I-I'm s-s-sorry," she stammered. "I c-c-couldn't sleep and…"

Severus held up a hand. "Shh," he whispered. "You'll wake the whole school. Come here," he patted the cushion beside him. She looked warily at him for a moment, and he sighed softly. "Come here," he repeated, a bit more forcefully. "I'm not going to bite you."

Finally, she edged forward and sat beside him, the sofa sinking slightly. She scooted against the arm, putting as much distance between herself and him as she could, and picked up a pillow, hugging it against her. Severus turned towards her, bending one knee and draping his arm over the back of the couch, and he studied her for a moment. "Rough night, isn't it?" he asked finally, barely a whisper.

She nodded, big-eyed and trembling slightly. "Yes," she whispered back. "I couldn't sleep."

He tried to smile, but didn't think he accomplished anything more than a lessening of his scowl. "Neither could I," he admitted. "I think perhaps we're awake for the same reason."

She was still watching him warily, as though he were a dangerous animal she was afraid would attack her, and Severus felt a momentary pang of guilt and pity for her. He was truly a dismal Head of House that his own students were terrified of him to that extent.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked her quietly, not sure if he hoped she'd say yes or no. As it happened, she said neither, but continued to watch him with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. He sighed again. "Amber," he said softly, "really, stop looking at me like I'm a wild boar. I'm not going to hurt you." In truth, it hurt him that she seemed so frightened of him. It was one thing to make his students wonder if he really _could_ read their minds and if he really _would_ let them die if they made their cauldrons explode… but it was something else entirely for a young Slytherin to be looking at him like he might decide to have her for breakfast.

She swallowed hard. "I miss her," she offered quietly.

Severus reached over and patted her bare foot. "I miss her, too," he replied. "Come here," he gestured for her to come closer, and she did. He settled an arm around her shoulders, and after a moment of leaning stiffly against him, she relaxed. "Were you close?" he asked softly, realizing that he didn't know anything at all about the relationship Aislinn and Amber had shared. In fact, he didn't know anything about the relationship sisters _should_ share.

"I barely knew she existed until a couple of months ago," Amber replied.

Severus was taken aback, and he stared at the top of her head for a moment. "You mean your parents never told you that you had a sister?"

She shook her head. "I knew I had a sister, but the way they talked about her, I thought she was a squib or something. I think I remember meeting her once when I was real little, but…" she trailed away, and Severus felt a bubble of anger rising in his throat. What kind of parents were those people?

"I see," he said softly.

"I don't know that she knew who I was, either, at first. She found me…" Amber stopped abruptly, and Severus gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"Yes?"

"I was lost," Amber said, turning her head to look up at him, and for a moment he could see Aislinn. Only a moment, though, and it was Amber again. "I was already late for Charms and I didn't know where I was and I was afraid of what would happen if I walked in late… and then she turned up and showed me the way. I don't think she knew who I was until I told her my name, and I didn't know who she was until a week later."

Severus made a soft, indistinguishable noise, and patted her shoulder, hoping he was being encouraging. It was odd, but somehow the pain seemed less just now.

"I wish I'd known her longer. She was really cool."

This time he had a bit more success at a weak smile, though Amber wouldn't have been able to see it. "She was very cool," he agreed.

"How did you meet her? Was it just because you're both teachers? Were, I mean."

Once again, Severus squeezed her slightly. "No, it wasn't just because we were colleagues. She was actually my student many years ago," he said softly.

"Really?" Amber sat up for a moment and twisted to look at him. Severus let his hand fall away from her.

"Really," he affirmed. "The first year I taught her, she was one of my First Year students."

"Wow," the girl whispered, and he could almost hear the rest of that thought. _You must be really old._ "I bet she was really good, wasn't she?"  
  
A slight smile touched Severus' lips at the confidence Amber seemed to have in her sister. He almost hated to burst her bubble, and he was tempted to lie, in the name of respect for the dead, but at the same time found something of a comfort in knowing that Aislinn had been human, with human faults. And perhaps Amber would find comfort in the same. In knowing that the sister she'd known for such a short time was not a goddess, unreachable except by prayer, but a woman with the same sorts of insecurities and inabilities as any other. "Terrible," he replied after a moment. There was a brief hesitation, and then a giggle from under his arm, and that giggle encouraged him. "She was simply abysmal in potions. Her hair was always falling into her cauldron, or worse yet into the fire, and despite repeated detentions, she could never seem to remember to tie it back. In fact, my rule about tying back long hair was a direct result of your sister." He absently stroked Amber's shoulder, his eyes on the flames leaping in the fireplace, his mind drifting somewhere a decade since dead. "And she never had the patience for trifles like measuring," he said softly. "And that used to infuriate me-- that she would just dump asphodel into the cauldron, and I'd go storming over to her... and she'd measure it out in her palm and tell me 'That's a teaspoon!' And then she'd dump it into the spoon and it always was, and she and I went round and round about that. She called it skill, I said it was luck and that she shouldn't rely on luck when a dash extra could turn a sleeping potion into a powerful poison."  
  
"Was it luck or skill?" Amber asked him, and he looked at her for a moment, then snorted softly.  
  
"Six months ago, I would have still insisted it was luck. Some degree of skill, of course, because you can't say that it's entirely luck-- she obviously knew about how much was in a teaspoon. But the precision I would have called luck." He frowned a bit. "Now I'm not so sure. Perhaps she did have a skill with it that I couldn't see." He shook his head, as though clearing a mist from it, and looked sternly down at Amber. "But luck or skill or psychic connection to the cauldron, it isn't a valid method for potion-making," he said dryly. "And she never seemed to understand that she needed to measure, if for no other reason than because I told her to."  
  
Amber giggled again, though it wasn't as heartfelt this time, it seemed. "I don't think she liked to spend an hour on anything if she could do it some other way in five minutes."  
  
Severus nodded against her head. "I think you're right about that," he said softly. "I don't think she liked to spend two minutes on anything if she could do it in one." The girl grew quiet again for a moment, and Severus thought for a bit. "You know," he mused, "I'm actually not sure that it's fair to her to say she was terrible in my class. She really wasn't. She was horrible at mixing the potions, and a royal klutz, but the theory came to her very quickly. When she was a Third Year, she was doing work I would have been pleased to see a Sixth Year doing."  
  
"What's the theory?" Amber asked softly, and Severus grimaced. As a First Year, she was still learning technique and vocabulary; he provided the ingredients for their potions for them at that stage, and guided them, step by step, through the processes.  
  
"Sparing you a great deal of detail that you'll get into next year," he said after a moment, "each ingredient has a purpose and a set of characteristics. Aislinn could look at the instructions for a potion, and she knew what it would do because she knew what aconite did and what shrivelfig did... and she could predict what would happen if you added lacewing. Of course, she wasn't always right," he smiled a bit, "but her logic was sound. If she would have measured the ingredients and tied back her hair, she might have been one of the more brilliant potions students I've ever taught. And if she had been a little more serious. But I don't think she cared for the process."  
  
Amber nodded slightly. "I don't think I blame her," she murmured, and then gasped, and Severus chuckled.  
  
"I know you don't like Potions, Miss Carlisle. Believe me, after sixteen years practice, I can tell who does and does not enjoy the class. It hardly matters, though. You have to take it, and you have it for another four years at least, so you might as well make peace with it, if nothing else." He found a smile on his face as she turned her head into his shoulder, and he stroked her hair softly.

"Professor McGonagall said she was really good at Transfiguration," Amber said, picking up the cushion again and hugging it.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Severus replied. "Transfiguration is one of the more amusing branches of magic, along with Charms, and your sister did like to be amused. She was always laughing and smiling."  
  
"Was she in trouble a lot?" Amber asked, and again, Severus chuckled.  
  
"Constantly," he replied dryly. "She was hardly a model student."  
  
"What did she do that was so bad?" Amber had turned her eyes up to him again, and he couldn't help but smile.  
  
"Oh, I don't know that it was so bad," he said softly. "Not in retrospect at least. But at the time I certainly thought she was one of the worst-behaved students I'd ever seen. She talked constantly. She even chattered when she was in detention, which was at least once a week, and it was the most inane babble..." He gathered Amber closer and leaned his cheek against her hair. "Odd, that the things that I found so infuriating when she was my student are the things I found endearing when she was a colleague."  
  
"You were in love with her, weren't you?" Amber asked in a whisper, and for a moment, Severus was silent.  
  
"Yes," he replied after a pause. "Very much so."  
  
"Why?"  
  
The corner of his mouth twitched into a sad smile. "I think because she was so full of life and... positively drunk on living. She made silly little things seem monumental, found pleasure in the autumn leaves and frost-covered grass and the patterns steam made when it rose from her teacup... And she never seemed concerned about anything."  
  
Amber nodded again, but said nothing. This time it was her silence that encouraged him.  
  
"She believed the most ridiculous rot I've ever heard," he said softly, his voice not carrying the derision which should have laced it at such a statement. "All those fairy tales that Muggles have invented over the years... I think she believed every one of them."  
  
"That's why mum disowned her," Amber said matter-of-factly. "She went to live with the Muggles."  
  
Severus raised an eyebrow. That was not what Aislinn had told him. He wondered if he would ever know the truth. "Well," he said quietly, "that's your mum's loss, then."

"I wish she were still here," Amber whispered softly, and turned to lean into Severus' arm again. He cradled her against him, shifting so she was leaning against his chest.

"I wish so too," he said softly. For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackling of the fireplace to dispel the quiet, and in the silence, Severus had the opportunity to reflect that if anyone walked in at that moment, he'd have a hard time explaining why he had a student curled up against him. For a moment, he considered separating himself from her, for the sake of propriety, but he could bring himself to move. Besides, he didn't think of her as anything other than a student and a child, and intent had to count for something.

"Can I ask you a question, Professor?" she asked suddenly, and he glanced down at her.

"Certainly," he replied, hoping it wasn't going to be anything too taxing to answer.

"Does the Sorting Hat ever put anyone in the wrong House?"

That took him by surprise, but he recovered quickly enough that he hoped he sounded convincing. "If it ever has, I didn't know about it."

"Oh."

"Why?" he asked softly, and she turned to look up at him again, her hair falling into her face. Instinctively, he moved the strand behind her ear. "Do you think you don't belong in Slytherin?"

Even in the faint firelight, he thought he could see her blushing, and she turned away again, picking up the cushion once more. "Sometimes," she admitted.

"Can I ask why not?" he asked quietly.

"It just seems like everyone else is so pushy and mean," she said softly. "I don't really have any friends here."

Severus shifted slightly. "We're not all so bad," he told her gently. "Ambitious, yes, and determined. And maybe even ruthless at times," _most of the time_, "but there are a lot of good people who are ambitious and determined. They aren't bad qualities, you know."

"But why does everyone have to be so…" she trailed off.

"Mean?" he offered, using her own word from a minute ago. She nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, can't you be ambitious and still be nice?"

He smiled slightly and hugged her close again. "Of course," he replied. "You just have to remember to be nice. I'm afraid that for most of us Slytherins, that's something we have to remind ourselves. It's easy to forget to be nice when you're focused so intently on achieving a goal." She seemed to accept that answer, and didn't say anything else for a moment. "I thought you were happy to be sorted into Slytherin," he commented softly.

"I was at first," she replied, just as softly.

"What changed your mind?"

She was quiet for a minute, then frowned. "Draco was teasing one of the Hufflepuff girls about her glasses. I don't know… it just seemed so pointless. But then everyone started ganging up on her, and she wasn't doing anything to any of us…"

Severus sighed softly. "Draco tries very hard to please his father, to be like his father. I don't think he realizes that his father is seldom arbitrarily cruel." That was a diplomatic way of saying that Lucius Malfoy always had a reason for tormenting people, and that reason was usually their parents.

"I want to make my parents proud of me," Amber replied. "But I don't think I have to be mean to do it."

Severus nodded. "Remember that, then. You don't have to be cruel to get what you want. Spend more time working on your goals and don't try to sabotage others and you'll go farther." _You're the kind of person this House needs,_ he thought distantly. _Someone who can remind the world that Slytherins are not all cruel and evil._ He found himself hoping desperately that Amber didn't succumb to the pressure to be heartless and ruthless that so many of the Slytherins did.

She yawned suddenly, and Severus shifted himself again. "Why don't you go try to get some sleep?" he asked softly, but she shook her head.

"I don't really want to be alone," she whispered.

He nodded. _Neither do I,_ he thought. That, however, was one sentiment he didn't voice. "All right," he replied. "You can stay here." He started to move, intending the chair for himself, but she stopped him with another whisper.

"Please," she begged softly, "just hold me for a little longer."

Once again, his mind protested that this was so far from proper that it wasn't even amusing. But, once more, he replied to himself that his intentions were pure and that had to count for something. Though, if anyone happened upon the male Potions teacher whom everyone knew to be a sad and lonely man holding one of his female students… he doubted that anyone would even ask what his intentions were. The damage to his reputation would be irreparable, and he would be lucky if he had a job afterwards.

But, somehow, that didn't seem so important right now. "All right," he replied again. "Just go to sleep." He had every intention of slipping out as soon as she did, but, as his own eyes drifted shut, he reflected that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

* * *

_A/N: Again, thank you all for your reviews and comments! And Jenilyn, I'm so sorry, but Aislinn just had to die. She was created to die. These things happen._


	8. Back to Reality

"Severus?" The soft voice, accompanied by a gentle touch on his arm brought him to wakefulness and his eyes popped open. Different. Things were different. This wasn't his bed or his bedroom and… His black eyes darted to the head resting on his chest, and then rose to take in his surroundings, and memory came flooding back to him. He was in the middle of the damn Slytherin Common Room with one of his students sleeping practically on top of him, and the voice and hand that had woken him belonged to the Headmaster. _Do not incriminate yourself,_ he ordered himself sternly and began the laborious process of removing himself from beneath Amber Carlisle without waking her. Luckily, Dumbledore seemed intent on the same goal, and between them, they saw her settled back onto the sofa again, no more than a soft sigh interrupting her breathing. Dumbledore conjured a blanket and tucked it neatly around her shoulders and Severus raked a hand through his hair, stretching his misused muscles slowly. He was stiff is a board from the awkward position. A glance at the clock told him it was before dawn and he'd only been asleep three hours at the most, so he felt justified in a yawn.

"I can explain, Headmaster," he mumbled past his hand. _If you'll just give me until noon in a nice warm bed._

"No explanation is needed, Severus. Now come."

His mind still protesting having been pulled from the arms of slumber so soon after finding respite, Severus stumbled slightly as he followed Dumbledore out of the Common Room and into the corridor. He yawned again, and rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to stretch the persistent cramp in his neck. _Forget your neck, you dunderhead. Be concerned with your job._ He couldn't seem to convince his mind to rest on that worry, though. "I just went to the Common Room because I couldn't sleep and…"

Dumbledore laid a hand gently over his arm. "You needn't explain anything to me, Severus. I quite understand. I just thought it best that you not still be in there when the students begin waking."

"Oh." It was the only thing he could think of to say. He yawned once more. "How did you…?"

"Dobby told me," the Headmaster explained dismissively. "He went in to light the fire and he thought the same thing I did—that it would be best if the other students didn't find you there. Regardless of truth or intention, appearance has a way of making us seem less honorable than we are."

Severus nodded sleepily, sure that there was wisdom in those words that he wasn't hearing. "Thank you," he murmured. "What time are we supposed to be at… in London?" he asked, having the presence of mind at least not to mention their location.

"Nine," Dumbledore replied. "Though I will make your excuses. You are going to be in bed, under the effects of a Dreamless Sleep potion."

"No." Severus' eyes opened instantly.

"You're exhausted, Severus, mentally and physically, and exhaustion makes you vulnerable."

Severus struggled against another yawn and nearly won this time. "I'm fine," he insisted. "I'm not drinking a potion to help me sleep."

For a moment, the Headmaster was silent, and then he sighed. "I should argue with you. I should simply order you to take the potion and be done with it. Or see you to the Hospital wing where I'm sure Poppy could coax it down your throat."

Severus snorted softly. "But you won't."

"No," Dumbledore replied softly. "I won't. Come, my boy."

"Where…?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly at him. "Are you sure you don't want to spend the day asleep, Severus?"

Severus scowled. "Absolutely certain. Why?"

"Because," the Headmaster said softly. "I worry about you when you don't even realize that you're en route to your own quarters."

With a slight start, Severus realized that they'd come to a halt in front of his rooms, and his face darkened slightly. "Maybe I will sleep another hour or two," he muttered.

Dumbledore nodded. "I'll send one of the House Elves up with breakfast at eight if you haven't come down before then," he said affably. "Rest well."

Severus let himself into his rooms and headed straight to his bed, not even bothering to undress before he sprawled across it. He closed his eyes, grateful for the soft mattress, but, to his irritated surprise, sleep did not find him. After half an hour of effort, he gave up and was bathed and dressed in a clean robe and sitting at the staff table when breakfast appeared in the Great Hall.

hr 

Severus Flooed into the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place only seconds before Dumbledore did, and he immediately regretted being the first to arrive. He had no sooner stepped onto the grate than Molly bustled up to him, clucking her tongue maternally and shuffling him to the table. Before he could protest, he had a bowl of oatmeal and a plate of bacon in front of him, and was being commanded to eat. Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he'd been so adamant that he wasn't spending the day in bed, asleep under the influence of a potion.

He hadn't even touched the spoon yet when Remus seated himself across the table from him. "Good morning, Severus," the other man had said cheerily. A bit too cheery to suit Severus' mood, which was dark even for him.

"You got it at least half right," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder at Molly, whose back was turned. He wondered briefly if he could get away with a banishing spell on the food so that he wouldn't have to face her indignation when he didn't eat it.

Lupin leaned forward a bit, a grin on his face. "Don't worry, she does that to all of us. And, if you ever get over the insult of being ordered around like a ten-year-old boy again, you'll find she's a very good cook."

"I don't doubt she is," Severus replied neutrally, keeping his voice low. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm not hungry."

Someone settled into the chair at his left, and he glanced over, mentally cringing at the sight of Ron. "Morning, Professor," reaching for an apple from the bowl in the center of the table. "Hey, mum, is there any more bacon?"

As though she'd been waiting for that question as her cue, Molly came to the table with a platter that held enough bacon to feed a small army, by Severus' estimation. _Of course,_ he reasoned as Ron grabbed a fistful of the meat, _if all her sons eat as much as Ron does, she probably won't have enough to feed three of them. _He watched as Ron added three muffins to his plate, then leaned back so Molly could scrape three fried eggs onto it as well.

His momentary disbelief at the seemingly bottomless pit that was Ronald Weasley's stomach was interrupted, though, as Molly put a plate in front of him, rearranging the bowl and plate that he already had to accommodate the extra dish, then tilted her skillet to scrape eggs onto his plate as well. "Really, Molly," he protested, "I've already eaten."

"Well, it won't hurt you to eat again," she replied, unperturbed. Thankfully, she only put two eggs on his plate, which meant one less would go to waste. "Now," she said, pausing to look at him, "there are _plenty_ more where that came from, so you just tell me if you want more."

He looked at the eggs, then at his bowl of oatmeal, then at the plate of bacon, and thought it rather unlikely that he would want anything else to eat for the rest of the day if he actually succeeded in eating everything she'd put in front of him. "I will," he promised. "Thank you."

"You know," Ron was saying through a mouthful of bacon, "she's going to keep putting things in front of you until you eat, so you might as well give in. And you can pretend to eat the oatmeal for half an hour and then say it was delicious and she'll believe you."

Severus looked at him for a moment, not sure if he was more tempted to laugh at the preposterous suggestion that he pretend to eat, or give the boy a detention for his insolence. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley," he said dryly. "I'll bear that in mind."

Anything else that might have been said was halted, though, as Molly leaned over Severus' shoulder with a frown on her face. "Do you need something, dear?" she asked, looking concerned. "Cinnamon? Honey? Jam?" As she spoke, she set a glass on the table beside him and filled it with milk from a pitcher.

"No," he replied, "Thank you, Molly, I really don't think I need anything…" she put a cup of tea in front of him, and then offered a bowl full of rolls. He took a roll. "Thank you," he insisted. _Please, go mother Remus or Harry or… anyone but me._

"Mum, just let him eat, okay? I don't think he's used to people fussing over him." That was Ron again, and Severus honestly could have hugged the boy just then. Could have, but didn't.

For a moment, Molly looked hurt, but then her smile returned and she patted his shoulder. "All right," she agreed. "But if you need anything, you just let me know, or let Ron know, hm?"

"Of course," Severus agreed. _Anything to get her to stop fussing._ To his immense relief, she bustled back to the other end of the table and began fussing over the twins instead.

"You just have to tell her to go away sometimes," Ron confided. "She takes the whole 'mum' thing a little too seriously, you know?"

Across the table, Lupin had an array of food in front of him that rivaled Severus', but he chuckled good-naturedly. "Ron's right, Severus," he said, casting a look at the end of the table to make sure Molly was preoccupied enough that she wouldn't hear them.

"Just treat her like you would your own mum, and she'll be happier." This came from Ron again, who was poised to take a bite of his apple that, from the gaping of his mouth, would likely consume half of it at one go. He paused, though, and frowned a bit. "You do have a mum, don't you?"

Severus was taken aback, and Lupin glared at the red-haired boy whose face was beginning to match the strawberry jam he was studiously spreading on his roll. "Of course I have a mother," Severus muttered, breaking his own roll in half. He put one half on his plate with the bacon and picked at the half he held in his hand.

"I know you had a mother," Ron replied, looking uncomfortable. "But didn't you have a _mum_?"

For a long moment, Severus was silent, not sure how to answer that question. His first impulse had been a scathing retort, but he _refused_ to engage in verbal banter with a sixteen-year-old boy. His second impulse had been to reply with the truth, that his mother had been a lousy cook and a lousy mother and that he'd been lucky to have cold Muggle cereal for breakfast most days. He hadn't the chance to reply, though, before Lupin did.

"That's enough, Ron." There was no real edge to the statement, just a low warning, and it quieted the Weasley boy immediately.

He turned even redder as he mumbled "Sorry, Professor."

Severus took a bite of his roll. A real bite, for the first time since he'd sat down, and he was momentarily surprised at how it all but melted in his mouth. He'd been hoping that the act of chewing would buy him some much needed time to recover himself, but it was a short-lived hope, and as he chased the bread with a sip of tea, he made up his mind. _You will be civil to them today,_ he told himself firmly. "No need to apologize," he replied, breaking a slice of crisp bacon in half and looking at it studiously for a moment. "And, no, I don't think my mother was anything like your mum." He ate the bacon, frowning slightly at it. Remus was right; Molly _was_ a good cook.

hr 

Half an hour later, there were only a few remnants of breakfast on the table. Severus was surprised to find he'd eaten nearly half of what Molly had put in front of him, and, after some prompting from Lupin, he'd even drunk the entire glass of milk, something he hadn't done since he was a child. Molly stood and began clearing the table, and Severus nearly offered to help her, but, remembering the previous night and how she'd brushed away his offer, he changed his mind. He stood and began picking up plates and empty glasses, not even asking her if she wanted help.

She was coming back from the sink when she passed him with his hands full of plates, and she frowned. "Now, you don't need to be doing that," she scolded lightly, but he could tell that she was pleased that he was.

"Nonsense," he replied. "I haven't been teaching potions for fifteen years without learning how to wash a pot."

There was a chuckle from the table, and Molly braced her hands on her hips. Severus didn't have to turn around to see who had been laughing, because she announced it to them all in a shrill voice. "Ronald Weasley! I certainly don't see _you_ rushing to help out!"

"I don't know anything about washing dishes!" Ron protested, and Molly's eyes narrowed.

Severus leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorily, "He really doesn't, you know. I'll attest to that." Molly's scowl turned into a grin and she shook her head, making her way to the table again.

"Why don't you sit down, Molly?" That was Lupin's voice this time, and Severus could hear the clattering of plates again. "You're always cleaning up after us, it's our turn."

There was more scuffling of chairs against the floor, and Severus thought three more people must have developed altruistic streaks as well, because the amount of noise behind him was a cacophony that no two people could have made alone. Carrying the dishes to the sink where Molly had already begun running the dishwater, Severus hesitated only a minute before rolling up his sleeves. The last time he'd rolled his sleeves where anyone could see him, he'd spent several hours convincing that person that he wasn't evil just because he bore the Dark Mark on his arm. That had been Aislinn. He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was in the storeroom behind his classroom, scrubbing at a cauldron in silent companionship with the Divination teacher, and he clutched at the counter to keep from stumbling at the power of the memory.

"Professor Snape! Your water's about to run over!" Severus flung his eyes open again, just in time to see Hermione reaching across him to cut off the water flowing from the faucet. She stared at him for a long minute, then asked softly, "Are you all right, Professor?"

He swallowed hard. "I'm fine," he whispered hoarsely.

"Are you sure?" she persisted. "You look pale."

"I'm always pale, Miss Granger," he replied evenly.

"Yes," she said softly, "but you're paler than normal. Why don't you go sit down? Really. Ginny and I can…"

"Don't you have homework or something to study for, Miss Granger?" he asked acerbically.

She bit her lower lip, but didn't say anything else, and Severus felt a slight pang of guilt as she slipped back to the table. He picked up one of the glasses and dunked it into the water, putting his mind to the task of washing the dishes and hoping that everyone would just leave him to it. He needed something to do that didn't involve sitting among that chattering group. Slowly, the glasses left the soap-filled sink and went into the one with clear water in it, and the stack of dishes at his right elbow grew higher and higher. Finally, Lupin brought in the last stack, just as Severus was moving the glasses from the rinse water to the drying rack.

"Here," Remus offered, "I'll do that."

With a slight sigh, Severus moved back to the soapy water and continued to plunge dishes into it, scrubbing more zealously than was strictly necessary, and then slipping them into the rinse water when he was satisfied they were clean.

"I don't think anyone has ever offered to clean the kitchen before for Molly," Remus commented softly.

"Hrmph." A nondescript reply was all Severus had to offer as he put his attention on the rim of a plate. The silence settled again, marked only by the slight crackling sound of the bubbles and the soft _swish_ of water and the occasional squeaking of towel against plate. For several minutes, the blissful silence reigned, and then Remus spoke again.

"Did you try one of the turnovers?" he asked, "They were delicious."

"No." Severus picked up another stack of plates and lowered them gently into the water, then spent a moment rearranging the dishes still at his side. It was almost surreal how many dishes there were. Even for as large a group as they were, there were a lot more dishes than Severus thought truly necessary, though if his own place setting had been any indication it was little wonder. A bowl, two plates, a glass, a cup and a saucer, all for _breakfast_. He idly wondered what Molly would do for a big dinner. He had a momentary image of a table cracking and breaking under the weight of the dishes. Just the dishes, no food.

"You know," Lupin was saying, "I've been thinking about…"

"Can't you think silently?" Severus asked.

There was a momentary pause, and then Lupin spoke again. "You certainly are in a cheerful mood this morning, aren't you?"

With a sigh, Severus reached across Lupin and picked up a towel. He painstakingly dried his hands on it, then turned to face the other man, folding his arms across his chest. "Look," he said evenly. "It has been a bloody long weekend for me already. I went to the funeral of a dear friend yesterday morning, and the Death Eater meeting was even worse than normal, and yesterday evening was taxing, to say the least. I don't like being around so many people; it makes me nervous. I want everyone to leave me the hell alone. I don't want them to try to understand me and I don't want to talk about it. I didn't sleep three hours last night, and what sleep I had was in an uncomfortable position, and I did not anticipate coming here to have a second bloody breakfast. If I'd known this was what I was Flooing into, I would have stayed at Hogwarts for another hour. So, _please,_ forgive me if I am not in a _cheerful_ mood." Having finished his little speech, Severus turned away and plunged his hands into the soapy water again, picking up another plate.

"I'm sorry," Lupin said softly. "I didn't know. About your friend."

Severus snorted softly. "What difference does it make to you? You didn't know her."

"That doesn't matter. I would have been more sympathetic…"

Severus paused his washing and stared incredulously at Remus. "Banish the thought, Lupin," he said dryly. "If I had any more sympathy, I'd drown in it. I don't need sympathy." He dropped the plate into the rinse water and picked up another. "I need something to take my mind off it." This last was said more to himself than to his companion.

"Right," Lupin said softly, nodding. "Which is why you were so eager to do the dishes."

"Precisely."

"And your answers are short because you'd rather I either leave or quit trying to talk to you."

"Your deductive skills astound." Severus regretted saying that almost instantly. He glanced at Lupin from the corner of his eye, and the other man was nodding thoughtfully, still good-natured seeming.

The silence lasted several minutes this time, and Severus was scrubbing at forks when Lupin spoke again. "You said a dear friend…" he said, edging into the subject with what he likely considered subtlety. "Was this a… lady friend?"

Severus sighed. "Yes, if you must know. And before you ask, yes, she and I shared more than friendship and I really, _really_ do not wish to discuss it."

Lupin nodded silently, and after several moments, it was Severus who broke the silence.

"You mean you didn't already know all that?"

"Know what?" Severus studied him for a moment, trying to decide if the innocence was an act or genuine. After a moment, he settled on genuine; Lupin was a horrible liar. Quite good at keeping a secret, of course, but it was always rather obvious he _had_ one.

"About Aislinn."

For a moment, Lupin looked confused, then understanding dawned across his face. "No," he replied, and Severus believed him. "How should I have known?"

With a shrug, Severus muttered, "I assumed one of the children would have said something. They were certainly hounding me about it last night."

Remus nodded slowly, taking a handful of flatware from the water and toweling it dry. "That's why you weren't upstairs with them," he mused thoughtfully. "And it's why they were so subdued when I went in there."

Severus picked up a sharp knife and scrubbed thoughtfully at the blade. "Surprising," he murmured. "I would have thought they'd be blurting it all over the house."

"You don't give them much credit, Severus. They've all learned to keep their secrets."

He snorted softly in reply. "Their secrets, yes, but everyone else's?"

"Yes," Lupin insisted softly. "They keep your secret, you know. And they kept Sirius' secret. And I've little doubt they would have kept mine."

A twinge of guilt tugged at Severus; he certainly hadn't kept Lupin's secret. In a fit of petulance, he'd told a half-dozen Slytherins, confident that the story would reach around the school by lunchtime. He'd been hoping to see Dumbledore sack one of the Marauders, but it somehow seemed much more despicable in light of the fact that Lupin had resigned rather than force the Headmaster to make that decision. "They keep the secrets they are told to keep," Severus replied stiffly. "I doubt they'd know what to keep quiet about without help, though."

"I don't know," Lupin mused. "I suppose it depends on which of them you're talking about. Harry and Ron are as insensitive and clueless as any sixteen-year-old boys. They're no better, or worse, than you or I were at that age, which is probably saying a great deal. Hermione is sharp, and you know that, but do you know how big her heart is?"

Severus raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Did you know that she started a club to liberate the House Elves?"

A snorted laugh escaped Severus' lips. "No, I didn't."

Remus nodded, smiling. "She did. I don't think she's convinced very many people other than Ron and Harry, and I'm not sure she actually convinced them… but she's very concerned about the way House Elves are treated."

"Idealism," Severus bit off the word as though it had a bitter taste. "Something time will cure."

"Probably," Lupin agreed. "But for now, she's very sensitive to others' feelings. And Ginny is, too. Very perceptive, that girl. And it wouldn't surprise me to hear that it was those two who convinced, cajoled or threatened as the case may be, the others into keeping quiet."

Severus considered that for a minute. "Then perhaps I owe Miss Granger an apology," he said softly. He knew, though, that it wasn't likely to happen. Not any time soon. He reached across Lupin and rinsed the knife, then placed it on the drying rack, taking care to see that the blade was not exposed.

Thoughtful silence enveloped them, and for several more moments, they washed and dried quietly. Finally, Severus spoke again, breaking the silence for the second time. "I'll finish in here, Remus. Go tell—" he stopped short and took a deep breath. "Will you tell everyone to give me ten more minutes, and then be ready to meet?"

Remus nodded, smiling. "That was difficult for you, wasn't it, Severus?"

Severus snorted softly. "You've no idea."

Lupin dried his hands on the towel, then draped it over the edge of the counter, and patted Severus' shoulder. "I think I might have an idea," he said. "But just an idea." He slipped quietly from the kitchen, leaving Severus to finish the dishes and to spend those last ten minutes gathering his composure once more.


	9. Sacrifices and opportunities

Much as he might have hoped that the act of washing dishes would somehow speed the time until the meeting actually _commenced,_ Severus emerged from the kitchen and into a sitting room only to find that no one had seemed to even make an effort towards assembling the forces. In fact, it seemed that half of them were still missing, unlikely a prospect as that was, given the volume of dishes he'd just finished washing. A glance around the room, however, showed him no Tonks and no Moody. The six newest inductees were also suspiciously absent, though Severus knew that they, at least, were in the house somewhere.

Leaning against the door jam, Severus folded his arms across his chest. "Is there any likelihood that we will have this underway some time before sunset?" he asked, his usual sarcasm dripping into his voice.

There were a few appreciative chuckles, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, it was Lupin who responded. "A vague chance," he replied. "In the mean time, care for a game of chess?"

Severus snorted softly. "You think it will be that long?" he asked dryly. "If so, I'll be going back to Hogwarts. Unlike some people, I have other things to do besides attend these meetings."

"I don't know how long it will be. Tonks and Alastor were delayed, something to do with the Ministry, apparently."

"Severus," it was Dumbledore's voice that brought his gaze around. "I would prefer you stay. It is best that we are able to begin as promptly as possible when Alastor and Tonks do arrive." Had the Headmaster left it at that, Severus would have likely found a chair and entertained himself with watching everyone else's antics, but of course the blue-eyed wizard had to continue. "Besides, I believe you will benefit more from the company of others than the solitude of the dungeons."

With a scowl, the potions master rounded on Dumbledore. "Thank you, Headmaster," he sneered. "You will be sure to send me a memo when you have decided I am capable of managing my own life once more…?"

Anyone else might have been offended, but Dumbledore simply nodded. "As you wish, my boy." Infuriatingly calm. Did nothing perturb the elder wizard?

With a sigh, Severus turned back to Lupin. "Very well," he replied, sounding slightly patronizing. "A game of chess then?"

For a moment, Remus looked so surprised that Severus wondered if he even _had_ a chess board, or if it had been an attempt to bait him. Luckily, though, he exited the room, and a moment later returned with a box. Severus had only a moment to admire the craftsmanship of the board, which appeared to be inlaid with abalone and mother-of-pearl, before Remus lifted the top off to reveal the pieces nestled into their velvet-lined box. Picking one up curiously, Severus lifted an eyebrow to Lupin. "Not Wizard's Chess, I take it?"

Remus shrugged and grinned. "I never did like the senseless barbarism of Wizard's Chess. And I didn't like the pieces berating me for my bad choices. I'm afraid I won't be much competition, Severus."

Severus snorted softly, but seated himself, and Remus handed over the the pouch containing the white pieces, which, as far as Severus could tell without studying them extensively, were carved of alabastor, and exquisitely formed. The black pieces appeared to be of soapstone, and once again, Severus admired the board before setting his pieces. Having the white, Severus went first and placed a pawn, and Lupin followed suit.

"I have been meaning to speak with you about something, Severus," came Dumbledore's voice when they were three moves into the game.

"Yes?" he replied absently, deftly capturing one of Lupin's pawns.

"I would like you to continue Harry's occlumency lessons."

Severus' mouth twitched slightly, and he nodded jerkily, not wishing to discuss it here. "Very well," he muttered, knowing that arguing would not do much good.

Lupin made another move, sacrificing a third pawn when Severus had left a path to one of his knights. Two moves would have seen the knight captured, and most players would have fallen into that easily, which gave Severus reason to study the board for a moment, trying to figure out what ulterior motive Lupin had for giving up half his pawns in five moves. He could see none, so, from curiosity as much as anything, he took the pawn with a bishop, leaving the bishop open to attack from Lupin's queen, just to see what he'd do. Lupin moved his own bishop, putting it directly in danger from Severus' knight, but once again, he could see no motive to the sacrifice. He studied the board carefully for a minute, looking for a trap, but, seeing none, took the bishop. Only to have Lupin move a knight in what was, as far as he could tell, a pointless move.

"What are you doing, Remus?" he asked pointedly, earning a few chuckles from within the room.

"I told you, I'm really not much of a chess player." Remus shrugged apologetically.

"Obviously," Severus muttered. He looked the board over for a moment, then pointed at the knight. "Put that back where it was and do something more useful," he commanded. "And at least _try _to keep from checkmate."

Remus narrowed his eyes. "Why are you…"

"Because," Severus sneered, "If I'm going to sit here and play chess as though I have nothing better to do, I would at _least_ appreciate a challenge. And, given that your game doesn't seem to be a challenge, perhaps teaching you to play will be. Now _look_ at the board, and if it isn't a hopeless endeavour, _think_ about the possible moves."

Remus did, at least, look at the board, and this time his hand went to a rook.

"Why are you touching that castle?" Severus asked in the same tone he might ask a student why he was adding water to a potion that called for no water.

Lupin grinned boyishly. "Because you made me put the knight back."

Severus leaned forward and pointed to the rook on his right. "Where can you move that piece, Lupin?"

Remus glanced at the other occupants of the room, as though looking for help from one of them, but, Severus was amused to discover, everyone seemed to have found sudden and deep interests in other things. After a brief sigh, Lupin shook his head. "I can't," he replied.

"What about that bishop?"

One by one, Severus pointed to each black piece on the board, and Lupin obediently cited where it could possibly go, if it could move. That done, Severus went over them again, asking for each piece that Lupin had said he could move, "And what moves will I have available if you put that piece there?"" After a painstakingly slow analysis, the werewold had settled on a move that was much more satisfactory to Severus. The game was progressing much slower, now, but after another five moves, the game was, at least, still in progress and Lupin had even captured one of Severus' knights. Four moves later, Severus placed a bishop. "Check."

Lupin was studying the board carefully when the door opened, and Severus looked up to see Ron and Harry wander in. After a moment of assuring Molly that they hadn't left a mess anywhere (to which Severus snorted doubtfully), they drifted over to the chess game and Ron peered at the board, grimacing. The Weasley boy looked to Lupin and frowned. "Please tell me you're not black…"

Severus snorted softly again, and Lupin only grinned. "Hey," he said, "this game has lasted three times as long as any I've ever played. I think I'm doing well enough."

Ron's eyes widened, and he nodded, but Severus didn't think he was sold. Lupin returned his attention to the board, as did Ron, and after a moment, Ron's finger pointed to Remus' remaining castle, then to another square midway up the board. Remus reached for the piece, b ut Severus stopped him, putting his hand over Lupin's. "Why?" he asked simply, and Lupin sighed.

"You know, you're not much fun, Severus."

Severus snorted. "If you actually learn to play the game properly, you might change your mind. Don't just blindly do what Ron tells you. Why did he point out that move?"

"Because I can't win without his help?" Lupin suggested, and Ron laughed.

"You can't win anyway," the redhead said. "Not unless Professor Snape does something really dumb."

"Then why are we still playing?!" Lupin divided his stare between Severus and Ron, and for the second time that day and in the years he'd known the boy, Severus exchanged a conspirational look with the red-head.

"Bill taught me to play," Ron told Lupin, pulling up a chair and settling into it, his long legs straddling the back. "And he used to tell me that if I couldn't win, delay losing as long as I could, because at least I was learning to think. If you can avoid losing in under twenty moves this time, try to make it thirty next time. If you know you've lost, try to prolong it for another five. At least it teaches you to look at the board."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like solid advice to me. Now, what do you gain from moving your rook?"

Lupin studied the board for a long moment before shaking his head. "I don't have the slightest idea."

Ron folded his arms atop the chair and leaned his chin on his wrists. "How's Professor Snape going to checkmate you?" he asked.

Lupin frowned, his eyes scanning the board, then he pointed. "The bishop," he said at last.

"And, if you put your castle there," Severus pointed at the square Ron had indicated, "what does that do?"

Slow understanding dawned in Lupin's eyes. "It blocks you from using the bishop to checkmate."

Severus nodded and took his hand away from the board, and Lupin moved the castle. True to Ron's predictions, Severus won the game after three more moves, leaving Lupin to shake his head slightly. "I'd tell you it was a good game, Severus, but I don't know that it would be a fair estimation."

Severus snorted. "Like a deaf man praising a symphony," he replied evenly.

"Perhaps you and Ron should play a game," Lupin suggested. "I daresay he'd be more of a challenge for your skills."

Severus opened his mouth to protest, but was beaten by the Weasley in question. "If anyone else said that I might take it as a compliment," Ron muttered, an assessment that brought forth another snort, this one suspiciously like a laugh, from the potions master.

"RONALD WEASLEY!" Molly's stern admonition prompted Severus to decide he was suddenly quite thirsty and he stepped over to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of tea.

"Ah, don't scold him, Molly," Remus was saying good-naturedly. "He's right, after all."

Lupin was suddenly at Severus' side, fixing his own cup of tea, and Severus carefully avoided looking at him, afraid he'd burst into laughter if he did. Cup and saucer in hand, he turned away from the sideboard and glanced at the clock on the wall with a sigh. It was nearly noon, and the 'urgent' meeting _still_ hadn't gotten underway.

"Why don't you and Ron have a game?" Lupin suggested again. "Seriously. I'm told he's very good at chess."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "And who told you this? Ron?" The silence affirmed his guess, and Severus simply shook his head. He glanced at the student, though, momentarily considering it. It had been years since he'd played chess with anyone competent, and, he had also heard of Ron's affinity, through word of mouth (usually Minerva's mouth), though he'd never witnessed it. Ron, however, looked rather uneasy about the idea, and, after a moment, Severus shook his head. "I doubt that Mr. Weasley has any desire to play chess on an afternoon when he could be busily getting into mischief," he commented dismissively.

"I bet he'd enjoy it too, wouldn't you Ron?" Remus persisted. "He was complaining just the other day that no one ever wanted to play against him."

"That's because Ron's ruthless," Ginny announced, having walked into the room in time to hear the last of the discussion, anyway. A couple of snickers led Severus to believe that the appraisal was not entirely inaccurate.

Severus glanced at Ron once more, then at the clock. He should really be getting back to Hogwarts. Or at least, he should go back to the castle and retrieve some of the grading he needed to do and bring it here with him. After a lengthy pause, though, he shrugged noncommittally. "Well, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, "I must say that my curiosity is sufficiently piqued. Perhaps we can manage to pass another half hour or so."

Ron grinned suddenly, something Severus didn't often see from the boy. "If you think it's only going to take you half an hour to lose, why bother setting up?"

In spite of himself, Severus laughed a harsh laugh. "I do believe that sounds like a challenge," he commented dryly, walking back to the table with the chess board. Settling himself, he placed his teacup aside, deftly picking up the pieces piled loosely in front of him, settling the black pieces onto their squares. "Do you need someone to help you set your pieces?" he asked sarcastically.

Ron looked uncertain for a moment, then sat, looking rather nervous, as though wondering just what he'd gotten himself into. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat, and then he shrugged and reached for the white pieces. "Naw," he replied, "I think I can figure it out if I copy from you."

Severus snorted softly again, but noticed that Ron was placing the pieces without giving them much thought. He had lifted one leg, his foot perched on the edge of his chair, elbow resting on his knee, half-eaten apple hanging from his fingertips as he placed the last of his pieces and then opened with a pawn. Severus responded in kind, and Lupin settled into the chair Ron had been sitting in, watching. Without much more than a pause, Ron moved a knight into play, and, after a moment's consideration, Severus did the same, content for the moment to let the younger wizard set the pace.

"It isn't much fun to watch, is it?" Remus commented as Ron moved a pawn, which Severus captured.

"It can be," the potions master replied as Ron moved another pawn into play. "If you understand the game." Severus moved a pawn as well, which Ron immediately captured. After a quick visual sweep of the board, Severus took the pawn with his queen.

Briefly, Ron's eyes narrowed in focus and the apple hung from his fingertips, forgotten, as he studied the board. _No, Ronald, you may not have my queen,_ Severus thought, and, after a moment the Weasley boy seemed to reach the same conclusion and settled for a pawn. Severus moved a bishop, and, as Ron followed suit, the game shifted slightly, and Severus was setting the pace.

"So, what's going on?" Severus glanced up to see that Fred and George had just entered the room, but after seeing who had spoken, he went back to studying the board. After the initial few moves, it was not quite so easy to see the entire board in a glance.

"Your brother and Professor Snape are playing chess," Lupin replied, somewhat unnecessarily in Severus' opinion, but he didn't comment as he considered three options. "How goes the work on the map?"

"Slow," replied one of the twins, and Severus was vaguely aware that his and Ron's audience had just tripled in size. "Whose turn is it?"

"Professor's," Ron replied, stretching. Severus castled long on the queen side, and then took up his teacup.

"Mr. Weasley's," he countered, sipping his tea. Ron was now leaning over the board again, absorbed in the game largely the same way Severus had been only moments before. As he peered up at the twin who had spoken, the professor determined it was George; Fred was silently looking over the board, which led Severus to wonder just how many of the Weasleys were chess players. "Slow work on the map, then?" he asked, and George nodded.

"We figured out the charm last night," he was saying, "but it's impractical right now. We couldn't even differentiate between the people down here," he gestured at the small gathering in the room, "so I can't imagine what a mess it would be if it were all of the country."

"And that's assuming we can figure out how to _make_ it show the whole country," Fred piped in suddenly. "It was bloody time consuming just plotting the downstairs corridor."

"Hrm," Severus replied thoughtfully. In truth, he didn't know why he was even thinking about it; charms had never been his strength. "Well, I hope you two figure it out," he commented after a moment. "It would be… advantageous to know all the Dark Lord's movements."

Ron snorted softly as he moved his other knight into play.

"Is something funny, Mr. Weasely?" Severus asked as he peered at the board. It was too early to have drawn many conclusions regarding his partner, but he had hoped Ron would make a different move than he had. Not really expected it, but hoped it.

"I was just thinking that was the biggest understatement I've heard in a while," he replied, unfolding his legs and standing.

Fred had fallen back into staring silently at the board, but he suddenly elbowed his twin. "I have an idea, come on."

As the two of them trooped out of the room, Molly called after them, "Don't get too involved, we'll have lunch in about an hour." Severus watched from the corner of his eye as the Weasley matriarch stood and smoothed her apron.

"I'll help you, Molly," Remus offered, standing as he did. He shrugged apologetically to the two chess players, and followed Molly from the room. A moment later, it seemed half the room's occupants had vacated, leaving silence in their wake. Severus eyed the knight that Ron had offered him, but finally decided against it, moving his queen laterally instead.

Almost as though he'd been expecting that, Ron gave the board only a cursory glance before advancing a pawn, once more tempting Severus' queen, though this time the temptation was easy to overcome. After several moments of studying the board, he moved a bishop, taking another pawn. By the time Molly came to announce that lunch was ready, Ron had captured two pawns, a knight and a bishop; Severus had three pawns and a knight, and the other knight in his sights, and he was beginning to consider the unlikely possibility that Ronald Weasley was a fair partner.

As they left the board to head in for lunch, Severus spared it one last look; it was his turn, after all, and he could think as easily from the kitchen table as he could from the drawing room.

* * *

A/N

Just trying to set up a dynamic with this chapter. As I said before, I'm looking at the various relationships between characters, and in this and the previous chapter, I'm letting Snape see his students as people for the first time, really. As opposed to kids. (not that kids aren't people).

Lupin's chess game is very redolent of my own-- I know what moves the pieces can make, but I cannot play chess and don't fool myself into thinking I can. The game between Snape and Ron is based on a real championship game between a couple of people in Tel Aviv in the 60s. Except that I'm not sure I understand the notation enough to translate it exactly. I'd originally intended to have this game be very drawn out, but I've almost decided against it unless someone who is good at chess would care to translate the notations of the game... So, anyway, the point to that is-- don't hold me responsible for the chess game!

And thank you so much, all who have reviewed.

Cecelle and Jenilyn (and everyone else, really): So far as Severus and Remus are concerned... do you think I'm keeping it real between them? I didn't want it to be like school rivals one day and best friends the next, but I'm hoping that they'll eventually be able to be friends (though Severus hisses in my ear every time I suggest it...)

And, as far as Snape finding happiness... I suppose it depends on what you mean exactly. Once again, I'm not heading for a "Hollywood" ending here (though I don't intend to end it as abruptly as I did Still Waters... that was a literary technique, and I do intend to keep filling in backstory)

Anyway, you all let me know if the pace is too sluggish. At the moment, I intend to keep this very slow pace so I can relly concentrate on interaction between characters. If it gets boring, though, let me know. I hope I'm infusing enough tension and action to keep it from getting too weighty, though.


	10. Concessions

As the day wore on, Severus and Ron came to an unspoken agreement regarding the game they had in the drawing room: it was not necessary for them to both sit there and stare at the board all day. After lunch, Severus had only glanced perfunctorily at the array of pieces before making his move, capturing Ron's second knight and feeling rather smug about it, then had excused himself to have a quiet conversation with Dumbledore. Half an hour later, he'd returned to the drawing room to find Ron and Harry holding an animated conversation about Quidditch. It had taken Severus twenty minutes to make his next move, and he'd leaned into the kitchen, where the Quidditch talk had moved, to tell Ron it was his turn before he headed upstairs to check on the progress Hermione was making with her unusual suggestion. It, similar to the twins' endeavor, was moving 'slowly'. Severus nodded encouragingly, and mentally urged them all to speed up.

He was shutting the door to a second floor room when Remus' voice tickled his ear. "They'll come up with something. I wouldn't worry."

Severus spent a omment looking at the door before turning slowly to face Lupin. "Of course you wouldn't," he replied evenly. "You aren't the one whose name will be attached to a massacre if they fail."

Lupin nodded in acquiescence. "You have a point," he conceded. "But what good will worrying do? It isn't going to change anything."

"Maybe not, but you'll have to pardon me if I don't find much comfort in that."

Again, the other wizard nodded, and leaned against the wall. "I'd still have a bit of faith in them," he offered. "And not spend so much time checking on their progress that it disrupts their work."

Severus snorted softly. "And now you're advising me on how to monitor students I've had in my classes for six and seven years." It was a bland statement, and accompanied by a slight roll of his eyes. "Excuse me, but I haven't the time for pleasantries."

"Oh?" Lupin challenged. "And is that because you're too busy moping or too busy waiting for Ron to make his next move? You aren't doing anything at the moment, Severus, and you know it as well as I do. If you don't want to talk to me, then just leave. But don't make silly, transparent excuses." He folded his arms across his chest. "Don't insult my intelligence to that extent."

Thee was a retort on Severus' tongue, but he swallowed it. He also did not walk away, however, but leaned against the opposite wall, arms folded, almost a mirror of the other man. "Tonks and Alastor aren't going to be here for a meeting, are they?" he asked after a moment, and, after a hesitation, Lupin shook his head. "Was there ever really a meeting planned?"

Lupin sighed softly. "I did not tell you that, Severus," he protested weakly.

"Don't insult my intelligence," Severus muttered, his eyes darkening. "Although that seems to be everyone's favorite passtime lately."

"No," Remus said quietly. "It really isn't. They're just concerned about you."

Severus regarded him levelly. "Whose idea was this, anyway? Dumbledore's?"

Remus nodded. "He is especially concerned about you. Has been for some time."

Closing his eyes, Severus shook his head slightly, setting the ends of his limp hair swinging. "Crazy old coot," he murmured. "It's hard to be angry with someone you know genuinely has your best interests at heart, but I wish he would stay out of my affairs."

"He didn't think you needed to be alone," Remus offered, as though the explanation forgave everything. Severus opened his eyes to level a cold look on Lupin.

"And what if I _want_ to be alone?" he asked pointedly.

"Do you?"

It was such a simple question, and it would have been a simple thing to reply 'yes'. Except that in the last six months, Severus had learned that nothing was simple. _It's a fair enough question. Do you want to be alone? Was it a desire to be alone that drove you to the Slytherin Common Room last night? Is it a desire to be alone that has had you in the drawing room all day, around people, when there was never anything preventing you from Flooing back to Hogwarts and retrieving the work you could be doing? There are more empty rooms in this house than there are at that school; surely you could have found one if you truly wanted to be alone._

"Perhaps I don't want to be alone," Severus admitted quietly. "But I want to be _left_ alone. And damned if that makes the least bit of sense to me, so I don't expect you to understand."

"I think perhaps I do," Lupin said softly. "Everyone has been rather… attentive the last day or so, haven't they?"

Severus snorted and walked to the stairs to the third floor, sinking onto the second step and leaning his head against the wall. "I can't turn around twice without someone looking at me like I might break in half," he said bitterly. "I don't want their pity. I don't want anyone's pity."

"I'm not sure it's pity," Remus commented, moving to sit on the bottom step. Severus moved his foot to make room for the other man.

As Lupin leaned his head against the banister and closed his eyes, Severus noted for the first time just how gaunt and tired the other man looked. _Of course, the moon was full just the other night._

"Then what would you call it?"

"Concern." Lupin's eyes opened again. "Friends do tend to worry about each other, you know."

No, I wouldn't know, actually, Severus thought, but refrained from voicing the opinion. "Well," he replied shortly, "I'm fine. And if everyone else would just accept that I'd be even more fine."

"If you'd give them what they want, they might accept that you're handling your pain better than they realize," Lupin suggested mildly.

"And what exactly do they want?" Severus asked evenly. "Another emotional outburst to sneer at?"

"You're the only one sneering around here," Lupin pointed out. "Everyone else is…"

"Concerned, I know."

"And with good reason," Remus insisted. "If it had been Molly so upset, everyone would have hugged her, but been on their way. She's upset at least twice a day. When was the last time you…" Lupin trailed off, and Severus' lips curled into one of his signature sneers.

"The last time I cried?" he prompted bitterly. "I don't think I've given into that particular weakness three times in the last two decades," he replied. "And I think I was a Second Year the last time anyone _saw_ it." _And yesterday I not only had an audience, but I had no fewer than three people **fussing** over it. It's little wonder I don't let anyone see me in such a state._

"Exactly," Lupin said with a shrug. "It isn't…" he paused, obviously looking for a word.

"Normal?" Severus offered, almost too innocently, and was rewarded with a scowl.

"Expected," Remus countered. "So, naturally, everyone wants to know what prompted such a reaction."

"Well," Severus snorted, "it's none of their damn business."

There was a momentary lapse in the conversation, then Lupin observed quietly, "If everyone minded their own business all the time, the world would be a lonely place."

And is lonely so much better than aching for someone you know you will never see again? Severus' heart clenched as a memory of Aislinn lying in a bed in the hospital wing, clutching his hand and asking him not to leave, flooded his mind. _I should have been with her these last few months,_ he chided himself. She'd been so frightened of hospitals, and he couldn't imagine her facing it alone. He closed his eyes and clenched his fist, trying desperately to fight the urge to find a corner to curl up in again.

"Severus?"

Remus had leaned forward and had a hand on his shoulder, and Severus stiffened at the touch. "What?" he asked, more hoarsely than he'd intended.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Remus asked, concerned.

"Fine," he replied tightly. After a glance at Lupin, though, he ammended his assessment. "I will be fine," he adjusted. There was silence for a long moment, and Lupin's eyes were concerned, but he was keeping his distance. Thank god. Severus recognized the raw emptiness that was clenching at his heart, and he knew that if Lupin were to give him half the excuse, he'd be sobbing again. He kept his mouth shut until the pain lessened. "Sometimes…" he began by way of explanation, then paused, not really sure what to say or why he was bothering. "Sometimes it's as though everything reminds me of her."

Lupin nodded, and after a moment, his hand left Severus' shoulder. "Do you want to talk about…?"

"No." Simple and precise, and without a moment's hesitation. "I do not wish to talk about it."

"Then why don't you tell me about her?" Lupin suggested softly, settling his back against the banister again.

"There's little to tell," Severus replied with a shrug, though his mind and heart protested in unison. It somehow seemed a discredit to her memory to dismiss her so casually, but he hoped she would forgive him that particular crime.

"Well, how did you meet?"

For a moment, Severus looked levelly at the other wizard. "You're not going to give up, are you?" he asked.

There was a brief pause, then Lupin grinned. "Nope," he replied. "So you might as well start talking."

Severus sighed. "She was one of my students," he replied after a moment, then, at seeing the horror flicker across Lupin's face, he couldn't help a slight smile. "She was one of my students who graduated years ago," he rephrased. "One of my first students, in fact." Lupin nodded, looking somewhat sheepish, and Severus scowled. "Contrary to popular belief, Lupin, I am not so hard-pressed for companionship that I have to resort to defiling children. I know I'm unpleasant, but I'm not _that_ much of a degenerate."

"Sorry," Lupin muttered. "It just sounded bad for a minute."

Severus nodded, but he couldn't help but reflect that had it been anyone else, Lupin's mind would not have jumped to that particular conclusion. "She came back to Hogwarts to teach divination," he offered after a moment of silence. "And we became friends. Not much to tell," he retreated from the subject again quickly, quite suddenly.

Lupin's mouth was open, as if to say something, but there were footsteps stomping up the stairs, and Severus found himself scrambling to his feet, not really wanting to be found in such a companionable position with a man he was known to detest. Lupin didn't move, though, so when Ron appeared in the corridor, the sight he was greeted with was his potions teacher standing, leaning against the wall, arms folded and scowl on his face while the old Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sat on the lowest step, looking vaguely amused.

Ron cleared his throat. "I…er… I was just going to tell you it's your turn, Professor," Ron stammered, then darted into the room where Hermione and Ginny were working. Without knocking. A chorus of protesting squeals erupted from behind the door, and Severus thought it prudent to take himself downstairs _without_ speculating exactly what the young Weasley had walked into.

He returned to the board to find that Ron had captured another of his pawns, and once again, Severus settled himself into his chair, studying the board intently, and finding it just what he needed to push the thoughts of Aislinn from his mind.

hr 

"Dinner's ready!"

Severus looked up from the board he'd been studying for the last twenty minutes, and then frowned at the clock. Dinnertime already? The day was passing in lazy haste, much to his horror on many levels. Every minute that ticked away was one more minute he was behind in the preparations he needed to make for tomorrow's potions lessons, and he'd completely given up on grading the stack of scrolls that he knew littered the corner of his desk. He'd do something with them tomorrow, but he _really_ ought to be checking his stores of ingredients for the Sleeping Draught his Third Years were going to be making. Yet, somehow, he would rather be here.

He was slowly coming to terms with Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, though heaven alone knew if that comfort would last beyond his leaving tonight. It was, quite possibly, the closest he'd ever been to a _home_. Between the ever-lengthening turns at chess and the occasional chatter from one of the students and a half-dozen quiet conversations with Remus and Albus and one forty-five minute nap in an upstairs bedroom… Severus thought he could almost see the benefit of a life that didn't involve danger or deception.

"Come along, Severus, you're about the last one around here who needs to skip a meal. Those pieces aren't going to go anywhere while you're having a spot of supper." Molly had a hand on his arm and was ushering him away from the game, barely giving him the time to lock the positions in his mind. Molly's hand was gentle, but firm on his back as she guided him into the kitchen and to his seat, across from Lupin and with Ron at his left elbow and Fred at his right. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, Arthur at the foot with Molly at his side, the girls sat sandwiched between Lupin and Dumbledore. Severus couldn't help but wonder whose idea the seating arrangement was, but thought it rather effective at keeping meals more or less calm; none of the children seemed particularly interested in plotting when they _all_ had an adult sitting beside them. Fred and George, unlucky twins, were surrounded, which did not stop them from leaning their heads together.

The group had no more than settled when the chaotic confusion of dinnertime erupted; a spectacle which Severus had witnessed only once before. Breakfast had seemed casual, and Molly had been serving everyone herself, as she cooked, plopping plates of food in front of each of the people at the table. Lunch had been sandwiches and soup, and again had been unhurried and relaxed, with the bowls of soup already on the table when they'd been called. Dinner, however, was obviously the most important meal of the day to the Weasleys. Molly had been cooking for the better part of two hours and the table almost groaned under the weight of the results.

A platter of chicken sat in front of Dumbledore, and the side dishes were arrayed down the length of the table, creating a veritable feast, which Severus found himself admiring on some level. Not that he was particularly hungry, having already eaten more today than he did in any given four days normally, but there was something appealing about the steam curling up from bowls of potatoes and asparagus and broccoli. The platters started moving around the table, passed from hand to hand as everyone took portions of the food, and Severus found himself participating in the meal out of a politeness. A spoonful of this and a bit of that, and by the time all the plates had passed him, he had a plate piled as high as anyone else's. He caught Molly beaming at him from her seat as he studied his plate for a moment, trying to decide how to begin.

"Would you pass the salt, please, professor?" Ron asked suddenly, pointing at a spot on the table to Severus' right.

Severus retrieved the requested shaker and handed it to Ron, who proceeded to dump it all over everything on his plate. An act which made Severus' tongue curl slightly just thinking about it.

"Ron!" The shrill, indignant chastisement from across the table brought Severus' eyes to Hermione, who was looking exceptionally offended considering Ron hadn't even spoken to her or looked at her. "You're going to give yourself a heart attack before you're thirty if you keep putting all that salt on everything!"

"Yeah, well, I'd rather live and have fun and die when I'm thirty than be stuck up and boring and live to three hundred!" he retorted, giving his plate another shake of the salt.

"But what if you can live until you're a hundred and still have fun?" Hermione asked sensibly.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "Who wants to live to be that old? It's only worth it until you're thirty or so, anyway."

During this exchange, Severus had studiously avoided looking across the table, not trusting himself to meet Lupin's eyes. At Ron's proclamation, though, Lupin suddenly gave voice to the laughter that the potions master had been so fastidiously controlling. "Isn't it grand, Severus, to know that we've outlived the age 'worth living until' by nearly a decade?"

Shaking his head slightly, Severus took a bite of broccoli. "I think that is the first time I've been called old by anyone who meant it."

Ron's eyes widened and he shook his head quickly. "I didn't mean you," he protested, "I just meant that…"

Remus put down his fork and leaned his head into his hands, still laughing. "It's okay, Ron," he wheezed. "I remember when I thought thirty was old."

Severus considered for a moment. He _didn't_ remember ever thinking that thirty was old. He remembered thinking that forty was old, but hadn't thought that in about ten years, and the closer he drew to that benchmark, the younger it seemed. In fact, the older he got, the less he thought that 'old' had anything to do with a specific number.

Ron's face was burning, and Hermione was looking exceptionally like an offended old woman, and Ginny was grinning across the table in the direction where Harry was sitting. Severus made it a point not to notice any of them too thoroughly.

"Ah," came a voice from the end of the table. "It is the nature of youth. When one is sixteen, thirty is still a lifetime away. When one is thirty, it is sixty which is a lifetime away. And when one is five, sixteen is two lifetimes away, and as incomprehensible as thirty."

Severus frowned slightly at the wisdom issued from the Headmaster, and nodded thoughtfully. "Then you suggest that the age which one considers old is twice one's own age?" he asked, glancing at the elder wizard.

Dumbledore shrugged ostensibly. "Not conjecture, Severus, for people are not so predictable as that. It is merely an observation."

"How old do you think is old, Professor Snape?" This came from Harry, who had leaned forward a bit to look down the table in his direction.

Severus frowned slightly. "There are days when I think I am very old, Mr. Potter," he replied evenly. "And days when I think I am very young. Normally, though, I endeavour not to think of such things. It's mostly a waste of time."

"Then how old do you think is young?" It was Ginny this time, and Severus' lips tightened slightly, then curled into a sneering smile.

"I make it a point to never trust anyone under thirty."

This earned a snicker from Lupin, who seemed to be the only one to pick up the reference. Severus became exceptionally interested in his dinner plate, and remained so until the meal was over.

* * *

Soon after rising from the table, Severus had returned to the chess board and moved his Queen, having decided on a strategy that he hoped would begin to settle the game. The hour was growing increasingly late, and Severus increasingly aware of how much he needed to do before he went to bed. And bed was becoming increasingly appealing. The long day, it seemed, was finally beginning to catch up with him.

Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny were busy cleaning the kitchen, and Severus had settled himself in the drawing room with the other adults, who were making innocuous conversation about the weather and polite inquiries about each others' work. It was exceptionally civilized conversation, and, though Severus was not inclined to join it, it had a certain calming effect on his nerves. Arthur was relating some incident from the ministry when Fred and George suddenly came bursting into the room, their faces wide with grins.

"We got it!" George exclaimed, waving a piece of parchment that had been folded several times. Fred was pulling up a chair and settled into it.

"It was the chess board, you know. We figured that if we could set up some charms like a grid…"

"…then we could note everyone's name…"

"…and instead of trying to map their location…"

"…we could give a grid number."

"What are you talking about?" Molly asked finally, voicing the question on everyone's mind. Meanwhile, Lupin held out his hand, and the parchment was deposited into it. He unfolded the parchment, and peered at it for a moment, then breathed softly.

"Brilliant," he whispered, turning it over and unfolding it more fully.

Interest piqued, Severus moved to stand behind Lupin and peered over his shouler. After glancing up at him, Remus flipped the parchment over again and pointed to a very brief list of names. The Weasleys were all listed, and their locations. _A. Weasley—Drawing Room; B. Weasley—Corridor; F. Weasley—Drawing room; George Weasely—Drawing Room; Ginny Weasley—Kitchen; M. Weasley—Drawing Room; R. Weasley—Kitchen._

"Now, look," George instructed, and he suddenly Disapparated. The location beside his name blanked, and then changed to 'Room C3.'

"Room C is the third room on the third floor," Fred explained. "We didn't label all the rooms yet. Dunno if we will."

Severus nodded, but was frowning in concentration. "The list only shows certain people…" he noted unnecessarily, watching as Fred's location changed to 'Room C0' then 'Room B0'.

"He's going downstairs," George explained, answering the perplexed look on Lupin's face. "We haven't figured out how to do the stairs yet. And the way it works, we have to have something from everyone we're tracking. And we have samples of everyone in the family."

"Something from everyone you're tracking?" Severus repeated softly, then stood and sighed. "It's a nice piece of work, boys, but the chances of acquiring something of the Dark Lord's are… doubtful."

"That is something we may be able to overcome," Dumbledore said, and Severus started slightly to find that the Headmaster was standing right beside him. "Now, you say you are having difficulties mapping the stairs. Why is that?"

"Because we have charms set in all the corners of the rooms," came a voice from the doorway, "but we couldn't really set them on the corners of the stairs and make them go up and down… so the they're interpreted as corridors."

"Charms in the corners of all the rooms?" Severus repeated. He was beginning to feel like a parrot. "So you propose we create a grid of charms all over England?"

There was a bit of silence, and Severus could feel more than one pair of eyes on him, silently scolding him for being too harsh on the boys. But the others could praise efforts; Severus needed _results._

"What if you can turn it around, somehow?" came a voice from the doorway, and almost as one, all eyes swivled to Hermione. She seemed almost oblivious as she came into the room and stood at Severus' elbow, peering at the parchment over Lupin's other shoulder.

"How so?" George asked, apparently nonplussed by the discussion from earlier.

"Can you make the charms be something someone can carry, and use something from the sites? Like, dirt or something from a hillside?"

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "There is too great a risk from simply picking up stones. The soil moves, after all. Perhaps setting charms all over the country is not so unrealistic, after all. We do have advantages on our side, after all."

"Such as?" Severus asked, mostly under his breath, and was marginally surprised when Dumbledore answered.

"Such as not needing to know what _room_ an event is taking place in. We need only know a general location, and then can simply _look_ for the gathering. I wonder if this would work with charms spaced at three or fou kilometers apart?"

Fred had returned by this time, the notation by his name now saying 'Drawing Room' again, and he and George exchanged glances. "I dunno if it would work from so far apart or not," Fred finally said, "but there's nothing to keep us from trying."

"And we've yet to overcome the difficulty of getting 'something' of the Dark Lord. I guarantee you, even if I do have reason to see him again before the dark of the moon, he is not going to simply offer a drop of his blood."

"Well, we have you," Hermione pointed out logically. "We can use the map to track where you are, and that will lead us to him."

Severus scowled. He'd been hoping no one would suggest that. "Provided I'm 'invited' to this little gala," he conceded.

"If it's to be named for you, surely you will be." That came from Lupin, and Severus turned his scowl to the other wizard.

"Perhaps," Dumbledore suggested suddenly, "Professor Snape would feel more confident if this were not an endeavor that could be used against him. Why don't you two," he pointed at Fred and George, "continue working on the map. When you have it working properly, then I will take it into my office and we will link it to Professor Snape just before we need to know his whereabouts. And, after the purpose has been fulfilled, we will either remove him from it, destroy the parchment, or give it over into his safekeeping. Will that be acceptable, Severus?"

Severus sighed softly, but he knew he had no choice in the matter. He didn't think he trusted Fred or George any farther than he could see them, so he had been very reluctant to give them any means to track his movements. Dumbledore, however, he did tend to trust, so after a moment's consideration, he nodded. "Very well," he replied. "I will give you what you need, Headmaster."

"Excellent! Now, I don't know about you, Severus, but I'm growing quite tired, and I still have a few things I must do before tomorrow. I had hoped we would have the chance to meet with Alastor and Tonks, but that does not seem likely at this point. I think I will be returning to Hogwarts now. Will you be staying a bit longer?"

Severus' eyes darkened. "No," he replied shortly. "I'll join you." There was a slight shifting at his elbow, and Severus glanced to his left, his eyes falling even with Ron's. _When did he grow so tall that he could look me in the eye?_ "Is there something you wanted, Mr. Weasley?"

Ron scratched the back of his neck, then glanced across the room. "I, er, I was just wondering if I should… put up the game… or…"

Severus glanced across the room, too, and for a moment was tempted to tell the boy to put it away. After a long moment, though, he changed his mind. "Only if you've conceded the victory, Mr. Weasley," he replied, somewhat formally. "Otherwise, I suggest trying to maintain the positions on the board."

A grin broke out across the redhead's face. "It will be there the next time you're here," Ron promised, and Severus resisted the urge to grin back at him. The humor in his eyes faded, though, as they moved to Harry, and as he regarded the boy who looked so like his former nemesis, Severus' eyes grew flinty. "And, Mr. Potter, I suppose that you and I will be resuming some extra lessons, though I can't imagine that our old excuse will work so well this time. I would never accept a student into my NEWT class if I thought he needed remedial potions tutoring. So, I suppose it will be a detention from you tomorrow at seven. And I'm sure we can make that official to bear out our masquerade."

A flicker of hatred crossed Harry's face but he nodded. "Yes sir."

Arthur stood and tromped over to him, offering a hand, which Severus shook. "We'll see you next time, then, Severus," the elder Weasley was saying. "And with luck, Fred and George will have made some headway."

Molly was beside Arthur then, and Severus turned to take her hand, but she brushed the offer aside, instead pulling him into a tight and very unexpected hug. "You take care," she whispered into his ear. "And get some rest. And for Merlin's sake, _eat_. You're far too thin."

He made an awkward attempt to pull away from her, but she held tight, so, in resignation, he finally snaked his arms around her as well. He was rewarded by an even more bone-crushing hug, but it felt oddly comforting. "I will," he promised. "Thank you for four delicious meals in a row," he told her, and she eased her embrace.

"You come back here tomrrow evening, and I'll fix you a fifth," she told him. "And if you need anything, you know how to get in touch with Arthur and me."

He couldn't imagine anything that he might need that Arthur or Molly could help him with that no one at Hogwarts could, but he nodded anyway, feeling an unaccustomed warmth in his heart from the offer. "Thank you," he murmured, and she finally let him go.

The two Weasley parents were talking to Dumbledore now, and Lupin took the chance to offer a hand to Severus, which Severus looked at doubtfully for a moment. He finally took the proffered hand, though, and Lupin clasped his hand warmly between his. "Take care," he said quietly. "And don't be such a stranger here. You know, you don't need a meeting to pay me a call. Perhaps you can teach me more about chess some time, without an audience."

Severus frowned slightly. "We'll see," he murmured in reply, though in honesty, he couldn't imagine himself humoring Lupin on this point. It was one thing to be civilized towards him, to cooperate, even be pleasant with him when the situation warranted it, but he did _not_ consider Remus Lupin a friend.

When the good nights were finally finished, and Dumbledore had admonished the students to return to Hogwarts before curfew, Severus and the Headmaster Flooed back to the school, into Dumbledore's office. Severus waited until the older man had ducked out of the fireplace before scowling at him. "Next time you want me to spend a day somewhere, _please_ tell me that it's for no good reason."

"My boy," Dumbledore said softly, "it was for a very good reason. I apologize for deceiving you, but it was for your own good."

Severus snorted. "I have a dozen things I could have been doing," he protested.

"Yes," the Headmaster said, plucking a cinnamon candy from a dish on his desk, "and you would have done none of them. You needed time away from Hogwarts, and away from your work, and in the company of those who care for you. Your scrolls will wait. Candy?"

Severus looked at the bowl of crimson candies and frowned slightly. "Fine," he replied. "Next time you feel I need to be in the presense of others, don't lie to me."

"Have a piece of candy, Severus, then go to bed. You've had a long day."

Severus folded his arms pointedly. "Don't treat me like a child," he hissed. "I don't care what your motives were, I want your word."

Dumbledore sighed softly, but nodded. "Very well, Severus. But I want _your_ word that if I think you need a leisurely afternoon somewhere besides the dungeons, that you will take it."

"Fine," Severus hissed. "So long as it isn't more than one afternoon in a week's time.

Dumbledore shook his head slightly. "I never thought I would be arguing with a member of the faculty about how much time off he has. Not from this side of the argument, at any rate." He placed the crystal bowl of candies back on his desk. "I am proud of you, though. The way you reacted with Ronald Weasley this afternoon was quite admirable."

Severus snorted softly. "Who would have guessed that such a miserable little mischief-maker as he would play such a decent game of chess?" he mused softly, then reached for the bowl of candy, plucking one of the scarlet orbs. "Is there anything else, Headmaster?"

"No, Severus," Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling as Severus popped the candy into his mouth. "Enjoy the remainder of your evening."

"Good night," Severus replied pointedly, and stalked out of the Headmaster's office, rolling the candy around on his tongue.

* * *

A/N: duj: the chess game came from http:www.xs4all.nl/timkr/chess/fant100.htm

I think the one I'm using is #9 (I already copied all the moves onto a more readable format, so I've forgotten.)


	11. Unexpected messages from unlikely places

It was lunchtime at Hogwarts and Severus was in his place at the staff table, despite the fact that he hated mealtimes as much now as he had when he was a student, twenty-odd years ago. Mealtimes in any school were always nothing more than a thinly disguised popularity contest, and, from his vantage point at the head of the Hall, he could easily look across the student tables and see the clusters that indicated the more popular students.

The Gryffindor table, as always, was one big mesh of activity, with students shifting and scooting around, moving from one seat to another every few minutes to speak with someone else. That entire House was easily the most 'fun' of the Houses, but also the most ill-equipt to face the realities of life. Even Potter and his little gang were not immune to the hustle and bustle of Gryffindor lunch life, and they laughed and talked as loudly as the rest of the lot. The Ravenclaw table was full of small groups, two students here and three there, their heads bent together, most likey discussing one assignment or another. Many of them had books open on the tables, some were scribbling at homework to make last-minute attempts to finish before the afternoon classes. Severus made a mental note of which of his students were engaged in furious writing; he would make a note to call on those students in class today. The Hufflepuff table was a constant in the Great Hall, with students sitting beside the same friends every day, their conversations always lively-looking, but never the reckless abandon of the Gryffindors. Of all the students, Hufflepuffs were the least interesting to watch. Finally, Severus' eyes drifted to the Slytherin table, and the corners of his mouth seemed to waver between a smile and a scowl. He could pick out the looks on individual faces, and he could guess what occupied their conversations. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were most likely plotting the latest and best way to sabotage Potter; Pansy Parkinson and her small gang were plotting ways to catch the eyes of Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle. Two of the Third-Years were plotting a way to get out of their Transfiguration test, and a trio of First Years were plotting a way to sneak off into Astronomy Tower to meet a trio of Second Years who were plotting the same (they would eventually learn to keep their voices down, and if they actually tried sneaking out after curfew and Severus caught them, he had a feeling that they might learn that lesson tonight.)

Amber Carlisle sat at the end of the table, her attention divided between her bowl of soup and a group of Hufflepuff girls. From the looks of it, the soup had far less of her attention, and Severus' mind slipped back to their conversation two nights ago. _Does the Sorting Hat ever make a mistake?_ she had asked him. She didn't think she belonged in Slytherin, and, just now, he wasn't sure he didn't agree with her. She looked positively miserable.

A sudden cacophany of hooting rising above a chorus of flapping wings announced the arrival of the daily post, and the Great Hall was inundated with owls that swooped and swirled through the air. Delighted squeals announced the arrival of anticipated packages, and a grown from the Ravenclaw table indicated that someone had received a Howler. Severus almost felt sorry for whoever it was, though he'd never gotten one, personally. He supposed no one had ever really cared what he did, one way or the other, enough for him to be given such an unpleasant piece of mail. In fact, Severus rarely got any mail at all. Apart from the occasional correspondance from one or another company he did business with, no one seemed to have his name. It was for this reason that he was marginally surprised when one of the owls broke that ranks from the students came to settle on the back of his chair, dropping a letter onto the table in front of him. He glanced up at the bird, which was hooting softly into his ear. "I don't have any treats for you," he murmured, rubbing her beak. She seemed to understand and fluffed her feathers, then nudged his head. Owls could be fascinatingly affectionate at times. He stroked her throat, and she preened, then took flight again, joining the other owls in thier exodus from the Great Hall.

Severus picked up the letter and peered at it, frowning slightly. He didn't recognize the handwriting, and the ink looked odd, like it was embedded into the paper. When he turned it over to break the seal, he had his second jot of surprise, as there was no seal. The envelope seemed to have sealed itself somehow. He poked at it for a moment, then found a loose corner at the top, which he placed his finger under and tugged gently. The envelope ripped, and he scowled as he removed the letter, dropping the envelope beside his plate.

Severus, it began, and he raised an eyebrow. If someone were familiar enough with him to address him by his first name, he would have expected some form of salutation.

I feel thoroughly ridiculous doing this, but she swore it would work. I'm not sure I'm convinced, though, but I promised I'd do it, so here goes nothing I guess. Frowning, he flicked his eyes to the bottom of the page, and frowned. The signature was scrawled so haphazardly that he couldn't make out the name. At least, that was what his assumption, since he presumed that the name was not "Natuii", which was what his eyes picked out of the angular script.

I meant to talk to you on Saturday, when you were here, but it seemed you were there one minute and then were gone before I could stop you. So I'm hoping that this owl finds you. An owl! What was she thinking? I mean, I've heard of pigeons and even St Bernards, but an owl? Severus frowned again, wondering who on earth would have sent him such a disjointed letter. Whoever it was, he hoped they'd get to the point soon.

Of course, I've just realized that if you do actually get this letter you're probably wondering what the hell I'm talking about, so I guess I'll stop worrying about the method of delivery. We met at Aislinn's memorial, I'm the one who showed you upstairs. Understanding dawned in his eyes. The scrawl at the bottom said 'Autumn'. Someone needed to give that woman penmanship lessons.

Aislinn wanted me to give you something, but unfortunately, it wasn't ready for you when you were here before. If I knew where to find you, I'd just bring it to you, but I don't, so I can't. But if you get this, please come and pick it up because... well, because I really can't keep it, but I don't want to give it away to someone else because it's rightfully yours and... I really hope that this owl (an owl?!?) does this right because... There was another jumble of words, but it was scratched out so effectively that even a teacher accustomed to reading through the scribbles of students who thought to conceal their mischief couldn't decipher it. It picked up again with a most unexpected statement that made his brows knit together.

I swear if she wasn't already dead, I'd kill her for making me do this. I hope you know what you're doing because I certainly don't. I'm including my address and phone number. Call me or write me or... or just pop in and knock on my door so we can arrange something but... I just hope you're more adept at getting in touch with someone than I obviously am. Honestly, I thought I'd seen it all, but an owl? Have you noticed I can't get past that? Severus thought dryly that it could be considered an insult to his intelligence that she'd even asked such a question. Of course he could see tht she was having a hard tmie accepting that she was communicating via an owl.

Well, it's been a "hoot". I hope you get in touch. Autumn.

Snorting softly at the pun, Severus tucked the letter into his pocket and momentarily considered sending his reply back with an owl, just to be contrary. He didn't think he would, though.

He spent the rest of the lunchtime wondering how he was going to get a message to some Muggle; he hadn't the slightest idea how to go about it, and he didn't relish the idea of asking anyone. Particularly not Dumbledore, who would use it as an excuse to try to prod him into talking, yet again.

hr

He was sitting at his desk marking a scroll on the reactive properties of nettle when he heard a knock on his door. For a moment, he felt an awful sinking feeling, and his mouth went marginally dry, forcing him to swallow before answering with a curt "Enter." The door swung open to reveal Harry Potter, looking every bit as apprehensive as Severus felt. There was a palpable tension in the air as the boy who lived stepped into the room.

"Shut the door, Potter," Severus ordered tersely, and the boy obeyed, shutting it with a soft click but remaining beside the portal. "Well, stop wasting my time. Sit." As he spoke, Severus pointed at a stool which was, rather conveniently and not at all coincidentally, beside his desk chair. Assuming he would be obeyed, Severus moved over to the cabinet, where his borrowed pensieve was encased behind closed doors, and then touched his wand to his temple. He pulled out three thoughts immediately, though one of them he didn't know why he bothered with, since it was the one the little brat had already invaded. Severus had no idea how much Harry had seen, didn't want to know, but even though he logically knew that the damage had been done, he didn't want to relive the experience if the little moron broke through his defenses by accident again. Unlikely, that, since the first time Harry had done it and Severus knew he was capable, but it was a possibility. After a moment's pause, he added a few more thoughts to the bowl of shimmering silver. Almost as an afterthought, he added the memory of finding Potter peering into the pensieve; this would go easier if he didn't have that thought swimming in his head.

He returned to his chair and settled himself into it, leaning back, his legs crossed, hands folded, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. "Before we begin, I want to make some things very clear. First: you will touch _nothing_ in this office, is that clear, Potter?" He waited until Harry nodded his understanding, and then continued. "And that is not an order of technicality. That you did not actually _touch_ will not save your skin if I find you snooping again. Is _that_ clear?" Again Harry nodded, and Severus continued. "Second: As I hope you realize, now, it is very important that you learn this. I am not entertaining you because I have nothing better to do, and certainly not because I enjoy your company. Given your new access within the Order, it is crucial that you learn to block out the Dark Lord. There is more at stake here than a few bad dreams." He sneered the last words, and leveled a cold look on his pupil. "Is _that_ clear, Potter?" Again, Harry nodded, and Severus leaned forward. "Do not bob your head at me. I want to hear you say it."

The look on Harry's face was one of pure hatred, and Severus could have easily assured the boy that the feeling was mutual. "I understand," he replied petulantly.

"Excuse me, Potter?"

"I said I understand!"

Severus gave him a withering look. "I believe I have made it abundantly clear in the past that I expect you to call me 'Professor' or 'sir'. Nothing has changed that."

Harry's face twisted into something almost unrecognizeable. "I understand, _sir_," he hissed. "But I do not understand why I have to be respectful to if you do not have to be respectful to me."

For a moment, Severus considered the boy, holding him locked under a piercing gaze. On some level, he admired the courage it must have taken to say such a thing, and yet, that admiration was considerably dampened by the tone. And Severus' mood further darkened by the irrefutable logic behind the statement. Harry was watching him warily, as though thoroughly expecting to be given a detention for his lip, and Severus was close to fulfilling that expectation. He changed his mind, though, and said softly, keeping his tone carefully neutral, "Very well, Mr. Potter." He paused only long enough to savor the widening of the boy's eyes before a sneer curled on his lips. "And that's five points from Gryffindor. For impertinence."

Again, hatred flickered across Harry's face, but the expression faded. "Can I ask you a question, sir?" he asked after a moment.

Severus nodded. "You may."

"Why do you hate me?"

Momentarily taken aback, Severus' face almost softened for an instant. Almost. "I should think, Mr. Potter, that it would be rather obvious. But then, I do have a habit of overestimating the intelligence of others."

The boy looked as though he were about to retort, which Severus hoped he would, as it would steer the conversation to more comfortable waters for him, but damn the boy, he did not. "I'm not by dad, you know," he said softly.

Severus regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. "I know you are not," he conceded. "But you are many of the things I hated in him."

Once more, Harry looked as though there was a sharp reply on his tongue, and there was an edge to his voice. "I would never do the things I saw in your..."

"ENOUGH!" Severus swooped to a standing position and leaned over, bracing a hand on the corner of his desk, putting his nose barely an inch from Harry's. "That is the third rule, Mr. Potter," he hissed between clenched teeth, "You will not discuss your past transgressions." He stared menacingly for a moment, then moved back to his seat.

Harry was looking at his shoes. "Would it help if I apologized, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Not likely," Severus replied. "But it would be polite."

"I'm sorry, sir. I really am."

A silence settled between them, and then Severus nodded. "Apology accepted," he said softly. _But transgression not forgiven._ He cleared his throat softly. "Why is it so important to you?" he asked quietly, hoping that the boy could be serious for a change.

Harry hesitated, then glanced up at him. "Because I know what it's like to be bullied," he replied, almost fearfully. "And I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

After another moment, Severus nodded. "Very well," he said briskly. "Shall we begin? Empty your mind, Mr. Potter, and master yourself. _Legilimens._" He pointed his wand and immediately was rewarded with a vivid image of a younger Harry being surrounded by a half-dozen boys who were three times as big if not a year older. That image gave way to one of him lying awake and staring at a clock that said midnight. He was lying awake in the infirmary, his beloved broom shattered across his knees. He was in a dark corridor, screaming at a door. Suddenly, Severus stopped. "You are not even trying, Mr. Potter," he said wearily.

Harry opened his eyes and looked at him, and there was pain etched on those emerald orbs. "I don't know how," he whispered. "I don't know how to keep you out. I would if I could, believe me! I don't want you seeing those things any more than you want me seeing your past!" By the time he finished, Harry was almost shouting.

Severus raised an eyebrow, but let the outburst slide. "Then prevent me from seeing it. _Empty your mind_. Now, one... two... three..." Severus immediately found himself face to face with an image of himself, outraged beyond reason, pulling Harry away from the pensieve, and once more Severus was treated to the expression on Harry's face, which, for the first time, Severus realized had not been pure fear over being caught. There was something far worse in it. He stopped the assault and sighed. "What do I have to do to make you understand, Harry?" he asked softly. "What do I have to do to make you see that this is not a game?"

"I know it isn't a game, sir," the boy replied, looking pale. "But I don't know how." The last was nearly a whisper.

"What have I been telling you?" Severus asked pointedly.

"To empty my mind," Harry replied promptly. "But how am I supposed to empty it with you digging around in it? _Sir_?"

For a moment, Severus was taken aback. How to empty his mind? It was like asking how to breathe. It was a simple matter of control, and it was not difficult and... _And that's why you had such a hard time of it the other night,_ came an accusatory stray thought, which Severus shooed on its way. He studied the boy carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Close your eyes, Harry," he commanded, and when the order was not instantly followed, he scowled. "Really, Mr. Potter, if I were going to do anything unpleasant to you, I wouldn't bother telling you to close your eyes." After another hesitation, Harry closed them. "Now, I want you to picture your mind."

Harry's eyes opened again. "How am I supposed to picture something I don't know what looks like?"

Severus closed his own eyes and sighed. "Fine," he hissed. "Picture a closet then. There are shelves on the wall, and things strewn all over the floor. A very messy closet, Potter." It was a cheap shot, but oddly satisfying, made only less so by the fact that Harry obviously didn't realize that his mind was being compared to a disorganized closet. "Do you have that picture vividly in your mind?" The boy nodded, and Severus continued. "Good, now imagine that there is a trap door in the floor, with an empty space below it. Open the door and begin putting everything from the closet into it. Everything. All the shoes, any toys that are on the floor, anything on the shelves. Just... clear the closet of everything." Harry looked doubtful, but Severus hoped he was doing it. Hoped for both their sakes. After a moment, he murmured, "_Legilimens_," and edged towards Harry's mind again. After a moment, he delved further, pleased to find nothing. He continued to probe for a minute, and finally ran across a stray thought in Harry's head, though it was only that. Harry was bent over a parchment in a class. "All your thoughts," Severus said in a low, warning tone, and even the stray thought disappeared. After a moment, he stopped probing. "Much better, Mr. Potter. You may open your eyes."

Harry's eyes opened, and triumph flashed in them. "I did it?" he asked, incredulously.

Severus nodded, "Yes," he replied. "And that is what you are to practice every night before you go to sleep. Empty your mind of all thoughts. We will continue our lessons, of course. You may go."

The boy stood, and was halfway to the door before he stopped and turned around to look at Severus again. "Can I ask you another question, sir?"

"You may."

Harry edged a few steps closer to him again. "Why did you hate my father so much?"

Severus sighed and frowned. "Really, Potter, I would think that you had seen enough to..."

Harry was shaking his head, though, and interrupted. "Everything I've seen, you already hated him. I just wanted to know why. Sir."

Tilting his head to the side, Severus regarded his pupil thoughtfully for a moment. "It would be well within my rights to tell you that is none of your affair," he pointed out softly.

"I know, sir."

For a long moment, Severus was quiet, considering. He could tell Harry, easily enough, what it had been that triggered his hatred for James Potter. Or, perhaps more accurately, he was capable of defining it. He wasn't at all sure that he actually wanted to say it, though, and he was certain that he didn't want to relive the memory. "The first time I met your father was on the Hogwarts express," he said finally, closing his eyes. "I was one of the last students on board, and looking for a seat, and he slammed the door to the compartment he was sharing with Sirius and Lupin in my face. He told me that there was no room there for snivelling little gits." Severus opened his eyes and looked at Harry levelly. "I had a cold," he said softly. "And because I was ill, I earned a nickname from your father that caught on before we were even sorted into our Houses." That was, of course, a severly abreviated version of the story, but it was the bare bones of the truth. He purposely left out the exact words that James Potter had used.

"My dad was a jerk, wasn't he?" Harry asked softly.

Severus snorted. "He really was," he muttered. "He was fiercely loyal to his friends, and he treated them like gods, but the rest of us mortals..." he shook his head, and then suddenly realized how much he had told Harry just then. Eyes narrowing and voice growing cold once more, he lifted an eyebrow. "Is that all, Potter? Or shall I comment on your mother as well?"

Harry seemed torn for a moment, then nodded, astounding Severus. "What was she like?" he asked. "Everyone says she was super nice and..."

"She was," Severus admitted. "The only real fault she had was the lack of intelligence to fall for your father."

"But you called her..."

Severus scowled. "I know what I called her, Potter. Perhaps in twenty years, you will understand that you do not mean everything said in the heat of anger when you are young."

"Did you like her?"

What is your obsession with whether I like people or not? he wondered bitterly, but shook his head. "No," he replied. "I could only see that she was a mudblood. Though, I think perhaps if I had known her years later, when such things stopped being so important to me, I might have."

The answer seemed to satisfy Harry. Almost. "Can I ask you one more question, sir?"

"You may."

"What's the difference between you calling her... that... and my dad calling you... what he did?"

For a long moment, Severus stared at the boy. "I suppose," he answered finally, "that there is something to do with the fact that I have outgrown some of my youthful prejudices," he admitted. "Your father never did."

"Maybe if he'd lived long enough, he would have," Harry whispered, then stood. "Thank you, sir."

Severus just watched him for a moment. "Practice, Potter," he said at last. "I will know if you have not."

* * *

A/N: And incidentally, if anyone has ideas for the renaming of chapters, tell me. I'm awful at naming chapters. 


	12. This will hurt

Deep in thought, Severus decided the rest of his work could wait until tomorrow, and slipped out of his office. He replaced the wards almost carelessly, giving them no more thought than a Muggle might give to turning a key, and then began the ascent from the dungeons, his mind still orbiting around what Harry had just said.

What if James Potter _had _lived another fifteen years? It was a dangerous road to venture down, the lane of what if, but Severus took those first steps gingerly. He had hated James Potter, and with good reason, reasons that even his son could not deny, but, however one studied those reasons, they were born of childhood animosity and schoolboy rivalries. And, James had been killed when he was still very young. Severus thought back to his own early twenties, and grimaced inwardly. He was little more than a child even then, even if he had been a professor already. It would take him another five years before the passionate hatred of youth dissolved into the indifferent bitterness of adulthood; what if James Potter had been given the same luxury of years?

Idly, Severus thought back to the last two days and to the tentative overtures of friendship between himself and Remus. Would something similar have happened between himself and James? _Not likely; there was never any relenting between you and Sirius, after all, and even Lupin admits that part of the reason he's been reaching out to you is that he's lost all his old friends._ Possibly, the'd hate each other as much now as they did. Odd, that one. It was possible that changing the past in such a fundamental way could very easy produce the same results. But, Severus liked to think he was mature enough that, if he ran into James and Lily Potter today, by some odd twist of fate, that he would be able to conduct himself in a civilized manner with them. That if Harry Potter had parents who were alive, he would be able to write progress reports to them without holding the past against any of them.

_And, maybe, having a child would have changed them._ Severus had often heard that having a child was an event that changed a person's life and attitude in more ways than any other event could. Perhaps James and Sirius would have grown apart, as the former would have had the _need_ to grow up, and the latter never would.

"Severus?"

He stopped abruptly, his eyes closed. "Did you not have enough of my presence over the last two days that you felt the need to seek me out here now?"

When Severus opened his eyes again, Lupin was standing in front of him. "I came to give Dumbledore a report," he replied. "And I thought I'd pay you a visit as well, since I was here."

"What sort of report?" Severus asked softly, taking the first bait offered in lieu of the second.

"Surely we can find someplace less public to discuss it..." Remus suggested, and Severus nodded, stifling a sigh.

"I just set the wards on my office, so it will be at least four hours before it's safe to enter, so suppose that leaves my quarters."

"Why is it unsafe to re-enter your office?"

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "I've had enough brushes with the Polyjuice potion these last few years that I don't trust anyone," he replied, then refused to say another word. His wards were more than mere passwords and stinging hexes to unwind; they were linked to his personage as well, and he'd little desire to see anyone get past all his safeguards. Remus wisely left the line of questioning alone.

They walked silently the rest of the way to Severus' rooms, and, once inside, Severus illuminated the sitting room with a murmured 'lumos'. Gesturing to a chair, he walked over to his sideboard. "Wine?" he asked, removing the stopper from a bottle of Madeira, "Or perhaps something less sophisticated. I have a spare bottle of butterbeer that I don't know how I came by." It was a cheap jab, and he didn't know why he bothered, as such barbs tended to roll over Lupin like water over wax.

"Wine is fine," the other man replied, and Severus' hand hovered over the bottles for a moment, contemplating. He'd little faith in Lupin's ability to judge wine, and little desire to waste a good wine on someone who didn't understand it. But, Madeira wasn't necessarily a fine wine, just unique, and easy to understand. He finally poured a measure into the glass and handed it to Lupin as he setteld himself in his chair.

"So," he said, swirling the liquid absently in his glass. "What sort of report were you giving to Dumbledore?"

Lupin's nose twitched slightly as he brought the glass to his lips, and the first sip he took was small. He apparently decided he liked the wine, though, and took another drink. "Fred and George have managed to make that parchment of theirs work," he replied. "At least, it tracked them over half of Muggle London today. It's going to require a fair bit of effort to have everyone out setting the charms, and Dumbledore is of the opinion that we should wait until as close to time as possible before we do so, but it looks as though we have our plan of action."

Severus breathed a sigh of relief, but he still felt uneasy. "I'll be glad when it's all over," he murmured, and took a sip of his wine. "I'll be glad when all of this is over."

"You and Harry had your lessons today?" Lupin asked, and Severus nodded.

"He had more success this time," Severus replied. "He at least wasn't offering me thoughts for the taking, but time will tell if he can hold the defenses under duress."

Lupin gazed thoughtfully into his wineglass. "And there were no more mishaps, then, I take it?"

Severus looked up sharply. "What do you know about mishaps?" he asked, feeling his gut wrench.

"Calm down," Lupin replied, setting his glass aside. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"What do you know?" Severus repeated slowly, enunciating each word with care. "What did Potter tell you that I specifically told him to tell no one?"

Lupin sighed softly and looked positively miserable as he stared into his wineglass. "Don't blame Harry," he pleaded softly. "And don't interrupt until I tell you everything." And then Lupin launched into a detailed explanation of Harry's visit via Floo powder just after having peered into the penseive. He told Severus what Harry said, what the boy had seen, and then took a deep breath. "And before you get upset," which it was really a bit too late for, "I want you to understand, Severus. Harry was very upset. He was heartbroken that his father had treated you like that, and that it had been because Sirius was _bored_ and that I, as a prefect, had done _nothing_ to stop it. He came to us for an explanation, Severus, not to poke fun at you. He wanted to know if we really were all that bad."

"And what did you tell him?" Severus asked levelly, his fist clenched around the stem of his glass, his lip twitching from the effort of not throwing the glass at the wall and Lupin from the room.

"We—Sirius and I both—told him that we were jerks at that age. Severus, I won't pretend that I regretted it much at the time, but in retrospect I do. We had no call for half the things we did, and for the other half... well... we should have kept our tempers and wands in our pockets." He took a sip of his wine again, and frowned contemplatively. "As should you have. I can't think of many things I did at that age that I'm proud of now, but those things least of all."

Severus stood abruptly and stalked over to the sideboard, leaning his hands against it, trying desperately to take control of his anger and humiliation. That _brat_ had no _business_ telling Lupin and Black _anything_. His hands clutched at the edge of the sideboard.

"Listen," Remus' voice was dangerously close to him, and Severus hoped for his sake that the other wizard had the presence of mind to not come any closer. "I know it isn't much comfort, but Harry didn't remind us of anything we didn't already remember..."

"Get out." It was barely a whisper, but it carried a sharp edge.

"Severus... if I could change what we did back then..."

"Now."

"Severus..." this was accompanied by a hand on his shoulder, and that was all it took to make Severus snap. He spun around, drawing his wand from within the folds of his robes as he did and pointing it to Lupin's chest.

"Get out," he repeated slowly, his left fist still clenched, knuckles turning white and entire arm shaking. His right hand, though, was steady as he held the wand to Lupin's chest. "Get out before I do something I will regret."

Lupin looked at the wand, then at Severus' face, which had turned a nasty, pale shade. A vein pumped visibly against his temple, and his eyes were dark, glittering dangerously. His lips, tightened into a snarl, were drawn back slightly, and it was probably a measure of the last fifteen years of practicing control that he had not muttered any spells yet. Lupin held up his hands, his eyes locked on Severus', and then bent to put his glass on the sideboard. He took a step back. "I am sorry," he insisted softly as he backed from the room. "Truly."

As soon as the door clicked shut, Severus jerked the stopper from a bottle of cognac and poured himself a liberal portion of it, then tipped his head back and tossed it down his throat. He refilled his glass and did it again, and only after the third measure of it did he take the bottle and glass and sink into a chair. He closed his eyes.

"_Who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?"_

_Severus batted ineffectively at his robes, trying desperately to get them out of his way so that he could counterattack Potter, but his robes were conspiring against him. Every time he made an inch of headway, they swirled around him again, once more hindering his ability to move. 'Calm,' he told himself sternly. 'You'll get nowhere by fighting your robes.'_

_A cheer rose from all around him, and Severus felt his face heating, and not all of the redness in it was from the blood which was gathering there. He forced himself to remain calm, though, gathering his robes in one hand and making a last desperate attempt to push them out of his way so he could see his target; James Potter was going to **pay** for this humiliation._

"_Oh, come on!" James was saying. "You can all do better than that! I want to **hear** it! Now, **who wants to see me take off Snivelly's pants?**"_

_The roar was louder this time, and a slow chant was taking the gathered students. "Off with his pants! Off with his pants!"_

"_Well, what do you think, Sirius? Is that good enough?"_

_There was a derisive snort. "Hell, I think that the fact that it's Tuesday is a good enough reason."_

_Once more, Severus tried to gather his robes, but he was unnerved by a sudden gust of cool breeze where there had been none a moment ago. 'They wouldn't have **really** done it, would they?' As much as he hated them, Severus hadn't thought they would really do it. They were tormenting him, but he had a feeling James and Sirius would keep batting the question back and forth until one of them had an excuse to stop. But suddenly, he was wondering if they really had. He focused his thoughts, and, to his relief, found that he was still in possession of his underpants and put his mind back to the task of moving his increasingly cumbersome robes out of the way._

"_James, Sirius, that's enough." Lupin's voice. It was, often as not, Lupin who was their excuse to stop, though it was seldom anything Severus knew about._

"_Aww, come on Moony. Don't you want to see how he stacks up? Hey, there we go, James! We should take bets first." That was Black's voice._

"_Let him go," Lupin said sternly, or what passed for sternly from the Gryffindor prefect to his friends. "Before I count three, or I'm getting McGonagall."_

"_You wouldn't." Pettigrew sounded horrified at the thought._

"_Don't try me."_

"_But James isn't **hurting** anything. Just having a little fun."_

"_One..."_

"_You know, it might be worth the detention..."_

"_Two... I swear it, guys, McGonagall won't be pleased..."_

"_McGonagall **isn't** pleased." That voice had belonged to the woman in question, and there was a squeak from one of the boys. "Put him down, **now**, Potter."_

_Severus was half-expecting it when he suddenly fell to the ground, so he had his arms crossed in front of him, protecting his face, but he cringed at the crunch of bones and a low moan escaped his lips, despite his determination not to give them the satisfaction._

"_I am **ashamed** that boys from my own House would be involved in something so... so..." she was sputtering slightly. Severus managed to roll into a seated position, his left arm lying uselessly in his lap while he tried to gather his bag and wand with his right, wanting to slip away as quickly as possible. He stole a look at McGonagall, and her face was red. "All of you. Report to the Headmaster, immediately. This is inexcusable. And you all," she spun around, taking in the crowd which had shrunk considerably. "It is despicable that you would all stand there and watch. Two points from each of you!"_

_Severus had nearly gathered himself to his feet again, but he lost his balance and fell, crushing his injured arm again. This time the pain was far worse than the initital pain of breaking it, and he bit his lip, trying not to cry out. He succeeded, but instead of the sharp cry, it was a whimper which escaped. Even worse, in his opinion, as a whimper was so pathetic._

_He felt a firm hand on his shoulder, helping him up then, and McGonagall placed her arm around his back. "Let me see," she said gently, taking his arm. He winced as she touched it, and recoiled from her, but she was firm in her tenderness. "Let's get you to the Hospital Wing," she said softly. "Madame Pomfrey will heal it in no time."_

"_My bag," he murmured, and she looked over at it, then bent to pick it up, collecting his wand too._

"_You, there," she pointed at someone, and it was Lily Evans who came forward. "Carry this, please." She handed his bag to the Gryffindor, and Severus avoided looking at either of them, keeping his head down. He did manage to jerk his arm away from Professor McGonagall, though at great expense of pain, and he removed himself from the arm she'd placed around him._

"_I don't need help," he hissed. "I can get there on my own."_

"_Don't be a fool, Mr. Snape," McGonagall replied tightly, placing her arm around his shoulders again. "Now come on."_

_Once more he jerked away from her, and, after a moment she sighed and conceded. He took himself to the Hospital Wing, with McGonagall and Lily trailing a few steps behind him._

"_What happened?!" Madame Pomfrey demanded as Severus walked through the door. She was far less easy to shake off than McGonagall had been, and her touch, while stronger, was infinitely more gentle as she took his arm and led him to the nearest bed._

"_Lily, you can leave his bag there. Thank you for carrying it," McGonagall was saying. Lily obeyed, and then bit her lower lip, taking a step forward._

"_Here's your wand," she offered quietly, holding it out to him._

_Severus took it, not meeting her eyes._

"_I'm sorry they were such asshole—er..." _

_Severus snorted softly and could almost feel the reproachful look from McGonagall. "If it weren't for the circumstances, Miss Evans, I would be appalled at such language. As it happens, though, I'm quite in agreement at the moment. Now go on. Severus will be all right."_

_After Lily had gone, McGonagall slipped her arm around Severus' shoulders again while Madame Pomfrey was making preparations. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly, her head close to his, her voice barely a whisper. _

"_I'm fine," he replied testily, trying to disengage himself from her. It wasn't so easy when he was sitting, though._

"_All right, Mr. Snape. This is going to hurt a bit, I'm afraid," Madame Pomfrey said, returning._

_McGonagall reached for his uninjured hand and clasped it firmly in hers, a gesture that was, at once, humiliating and comforting. "There," she said softly, using her other hand to turn his head into her shoulder. "It will go easier if you don't watch."_

_The pain of the bones shifting back into place was enough to make Severus moan again, and he squeezed McGonagall's hand tightly. She squeezed back and held him close, and he was glad for her presence, leaning his head against her shoulder. _

"_There we are," Madame Pomfrey said, patting his leg sympathetically. "Now you just sit still so I can wrap that..." Even the wrapping was uncomfortable, and it was a numbing pain that crept up his arm. "Here we go, take this," she held a vial of green liquid to his lips, and he reluctantly allowed her to tip the contents down his throat. "There, now, just lie back."_

"_How long will I be here?" he asked nervously. He still had three OWLs to take, and he needed to be studying._

"_An hour or two," Madame Pomfrey replied. "Now, just rest quietly."_

_McGonagall smiled and smoothed his hair away from his face, then patted his shoulder. "Not long enough to get you out of your Transfiguration test," she told him teasingly. "Just relax for a while."_

_As the curtain was drawn around him, Severus heard Pomfrey asking in a tight voice, "What happened, Minerva."_

_He could almost hear the tightening of her lips. "Those four boys are **not** going to wriggle their way out of this one," she muttered. "I'll see to..." and her voice drifted away._

Severus opened his eyes again, and drained his fourth glass of brandy, then threw the glass at the wall, watching it shatter. He stood and shoved the stopper back into the bottle, then stalked into his bed chamber, where he crawled into bed, barely taking the time to remove his robes and shoes. As soon as he closed his eyes, he was dreaming fitfully of a scrawny, unliked Slytherin being constantly tormented by other students.

* * *

A/N: Okay, I give up on naming chapters. ;) I just don't have it in me. Maybe I'll eventually get back to that, but for now... pft 


	13. Relief

The morning found Severus sitting at the table in the staff room, carefully avoiding the Great Hall. Despite what the meddlesome Headmaster might think he knew about his 'best interests', Severus knew for a fact that he did not want to speak to anyone at all today. That he had classes to teach was an unfortunate fact, and one which his students would likely bemoan with a vehemence to match his own. He was in no mood to tolerate stupidity today, and wasn't it just _fantastic_ that he had Gryffindor and Slytherin First Years for two entire hours this morning? And that distinct pleasure was made only more memorable by the hour of Second Years before the First Years arrived. And then, after lunch, he had the damn Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff First and Second Years. It was something that Severus was sure Dumbledore arranged on purpose every year—there was always one day when he had to contend with the youngest students for the entire day, with barely time at lunch to put his temper on a shelf somewhere. If he _had_ to teach First and Second Years in one day, couldn't he at _least_ have an hour's break in there when his presence wasn't required in the Great Hall to monitor lunch?

Just thinking about it was enough to prompt him to lower his head onto his arms on the table and sigh. Seven solid hours of the brats. Even Fridays, when he had classes literally all day, from 8 in the morning until 5 in the evening, wasn't so bad. At least those students were the Fourth and Fifth Years, and his NEWT class, which was actually enjoyable. It wasn't that he disliked the students, not really, but he had limited patience with stupidity, and First and Second Years seemed to have that in spades.

"Good Morning, Severus!" came a voice that was entirely too cheerful and could only belong to one person.

"Drop dead, McGonagall," he muttered. She knew how he hated Tuesdays and she knew exactly why, and he suspected that she felt rather the same way about Thursdays, given her normal reticence on that day. She took his sour mood in stride, though, as she always did, perhaps giving him a bit more sympathetic slack for his scheduling woes when she knew that he had a difficult day outlined. He always tried to avoid her all together on Thursdays.

"My, aren't we in a chipper mood." On second thought, maybe she wasn't taking his mood in stride. There was an edge to her voice that wasn't normally there unless she was berating one of the students for one of their many senseless acts.

"Remarkably so," he replied blandly, deciding he didn't care enough to lift his head. Besides which, he really didn't want to see her. There were still memories of humiliations at the hands of Gryffindors burned too clearly in his mind for him to face the head of his rival House with anything approaching the dignity that was demanded between colleagues.

"I hope you slept well last night?"

What is this, the Inquisition? He squeezed his eyes closed and silently willed her away, but he knew it was too much to hope for. After a moment, he sighed and sat up, folding his arms across his chest. "Is there something you wanted to discuss, Minerva? Because, plainly, I am not interested in small talk just now."

"Very well," she replied, folding her own arms. "I think you're being quite the jackass lately, and frankly, I'm tired of it."

With a soft snort, Severus raised an eyebrow. "When have I ever _not_ been a jackass, Minerva? I was under the impression that it was a state of being with me."

Her lips tightened into that thin line that he remembered so well from when he was a schoolboy. It was the expression that said she was not amused, and not impressed, and that he wasn't going to like what he heard next, and for a moment, he felt a twitch of something akin to nervousness. It passed quickly, though, as he firmly reminded himself that they were on equal footing here.

"You have been snapping at everyone and everything for the last four months," she replied levelly. "And I, for one, am tired of it. Stop pouting."

Priceless. Simply priceless. Half the people he knew wanted him to turn into a whimpering bundle of emotions, the other half berated him for being moody. It was little wonder he'd decided so long ago that he didn't give a bloody damn what any of them thought of him. "Very well," he replied dryly. "I'll make a note of that, and the next time I find myself _pouting_ I will see that I turn it into something more constructive. And, incidentally, I do not _pout_."

"Horse shit. You're pouting now. And I want to know what you were doing when you threw Lupin out last night. Do you have any idea the—"

"Bloody fucking hell," he hissed. "He isn't your pet student anymore! You have three more to take his place now. Can't you just leave me out of your little games of—"

"Don't you talk to me about pet students, Severus Snape!" she rebounded, interrupting him as neatly as he had her. "The way you coddle Malfoy is—"

"Is absolutely _nothing_ compared to the way you turn your back on Potter and Weasley! Just like you did the elder Potter and _his_ little gang of—"

"DO YOU EVER FORGET ANYTHING?" she was on her feet now, hands on her hips, staring down at him. The look she leveled on him would have crumbled a mountain, frozen an ocean, stopped an army of Mountain Trolls dead in their tracks. Severus, however, simply returned it, just as cold and as searing, and he didn't move so much as a finger. He'd learned long ago not to let it show if he was intimidated, and it was a small step from not showing it to not acknowledging it, then another small step from not acknowledging it to not _being_ intimidated.

"Seldom," he replied testily.

"Well, forget about things that happened to you when you were a snot-nosed boy!" she bit off each word as though they had a bitter taste to them. If they did, it couldn't have been any more bitter than the feel of those words as they soaked into him.

"Of course," he murmured. "I am not having this conversation. Not today; not right now. Not ever if I have my say in the matter, and considering I am one of the parties involved, I would say that I do." He stood to leave, but, to his surprise, she drew her wand and pointed it at the door. It became a wall, and a steel wall at that.

"You are not leaving this room until you give me a _very_ good explanation as to why you have a chip on your shoulder the size of a hippogriff."

"Or what?" he sneered. "Are you going to give me a detention? Send me to the Headmaster? Perhaps deduct points from me because I don't care to kiss the dirt Potter walks on?"

"Which Potter?" she asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Which Potter?" she repeated, more slowly. "Which Potter are you so angry with?"

Severus' lips curled into one of his signature sneers. "The one whose sole purpose in life seems to be irritating me," he snapped. "The one who had the nerve to…"

"To be born?" she suggested. His eyes narrowed.

"To parade in here like the arrogant fool his father was," Severus hissed. "To walk around the school like he owns it and expects the very walls to bow to his whims."

"And when have you known him to do that?" she asked again. It would have been a reasonable question from anyone but her, to anyone but him, about anything but Potter.

"When has he not?" he replied sharply. "When has he not broken rules that would have seen mere mortals expelled? But no, the god that is James Potter is immune to such trivialities as rules and consequences, isn't he?"

For a long moment, she was quiet, and when she finally spoke, it was with a carefully measured tone, one tight with patience. The sort of tone one might use to explain to a child for the fifth time why he could not have a piece of candy. "James Potter has been dead for fifteen years, Severus. Harry Potter is not his father, and is not responsible for the things his father did. Is that clear?"

There was an ice in her voice that caused Severus to frown and he narrowly missed taking a step away from her. Minerva could be a fearsome woman when she had the mind to be. "I am well aware of that, though I thank you for explaining it so succinctly." he replied, hoping his tone conveyed some small measure of the offense he'd taken at her tone and words.

"And are you well aware that you just called _Harry_ Potter James?" she asked, advancing a step towards him.

Did I? he wondered. He tried to remember. "I hardly see how it matters," he rejoined. "I refer to my students more formally than first-name. It is hardly inexcusable that I don't remember…"

"THAT YOU DON'T REMEMBER THAT ONE OF YOUR STUDENTS IS _NOT_ THE BOY YOU SO DESPISED WHEN YOU WERE A BOY YOURSELF?" The shouting was almost welcome after the icy silence from before. He could much more easily face wrath than that icy silence. "THAT is inexcusable, Severus!" She advanced another step, and he folded his arms again.

"If he didn't act so much like his damn father, perhaps I'd see…"

"You'd still see your boyhood rival," she interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "You would still see the Gryffindor Seeker with hair that wouldn't obey an order from God and…"

"And his mischief-making, reckless, devil-may-care pursuit of whatever is best for Mr. Potter's entertainment," Severus finished for her. "At least I see him as a person, and not just the Boy Who Lived."

"BUT YOU SEE HIM AS THE WRONG PERSON!"

She actually stomped her foot that time and waved her arms so wildly that she very nearly slapped him. Severus stood his ground. "And," he continued, as though she'd not screeched in his ear like a banshee, "I do not see what this conversation is accomplishing, so, if you will _excuse_ me, _Professor_, I believe I will spend the remainder of my free period…"

"Sit down, Severus." She pointed her wand at the chair, and he eyed it warily before catching himself. He could almost imagine her transfiguring it into a lion's jaw as soon as he sat in it. A half-formed mental image he'd often had in his youth.

"I believe I'll stand," he replied. "Or better yet, leave." He drew his own wand and pointed it at the wall, where the door should have been, but she snatched the wand from his hand with a practiced motion. One born of decades of manually disarming quarreling students.

"I said to _sit_," she repeated, pointing at the chair again. "And I expect you to obey me."

"And I expect you to stop treating me like a bloody student!" he snapped back at her.

"THEN STOP ACTING LIKE ONE!"

He stared at her for a moment, then took a deep breath, steeling himself. He sat slowly, taking his time, making it clear that he did so of his own accord and _not_ because she had ordered him to. He ignored the curtain of hair that attempted to fall into his eyes and he folded his arms pointedly across his chest. "Is there something you wished to discuss with me?" he asked when he could trust his voice again. It did not waver with the rage he was systematically tucking away.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath too, then walked towards him, placing a thin hand on his shoulder. He winced slightly, mostly inwardly, at the unfamiliar gesture, but a furtive glance at her face told him she'd noticed. And that she still remembered when he'd winced at her touch twenty-five years ago. "Yes," she replied to his question after a moment. "I want to know if you are all right."

"I'm fine," he replied. "Is that all?"

"No. If you are fine, as you insist to everyone who asks, then why did you turn so violent with Remus last night?"

The corner of Severus' mouth twitched. _And there you go again,_ he thought bitterly. "Because he would not leave when I asked him to. Nicely, then pointedly. And that, Minerva, is one disgrace I do not have to tolerate in my _own quarters._"

"But why…"

"BECAUSE HE WAS DREDGING UP OLD MEMORIES AND PAIN AND I HAVEN'T THE ENERGY FOR IT RIGHT NOW!" Severus yelled finally. "BECAUSE HE HAPPENS TO BE A MAN I'VE SPENT MORE THAN HALF MY LIFE HATING AND THAT DOESN'T EVAPORATE IN THREE DAYS!"

"Severus…"

"BECAUSE EVERY TIME I FUCKING TURN AROUND, SOMEONE HAS A HAND ON MY SHOULDER ASKING ME IF I'M ALL RIGHT, AND I AM TIRED OF IT!"

"Severus…"

"BECAUSE I DON'T WANT HIS SYMPATHY, OR YOUR SYMPATHY OR ANYONE'S SYMPATHY AND GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME _NOW!" _She had placed her hands on his shoulders and was trying to draw him closer, but he was _tired_ of that reaction. He was just _tired_.

"Professor _Snape_," she said sharply, and he finally looked at her, and it really was as though he were a boy of sixteen again. She sighed softly. "I had hoped it would not come to this," she said softly, and he felt an odd clenching at his chest. "As Deputy Headmistress, I am relieving you of your classroom duties until…"

"LIKE FUCKING HELL YOU ARE!" he bellowed, standing suddenly and drawing himself up to his full height.

"…until such time as you have regained control of your emotional state. You are a danger to your students in this state," she continued formally, "and I will not…"

"Where is Dumbledore?" He forced his voice calm again, but he could feel the vein pulsing in his temper as he clung to what very little remained of his composure.

"Albus is away from the school for the morning," she replied vaguely. "Severus, please, stop causing such a scene."

His breathing was growing ragged. "You can't _fire_ me," he hissed, his fists clenching and unclenching as his anger seethed.

"I'm not suggesting it," she replied simply. "I am suspending you for health reasons until you…"

"No." He shook his head obstinately.

"Severus," she reached for his arm and he jerked away, fully aware that he _was_, indeed, pouting now. But pouting was better than ripping her face off. _Or trying to,_ he amended, he didn't think anyone could _actually_ succeed in any such thing. "Severus," she repeated, more insistently, as her hand closed on his arm. "I want you to come with me, quietly."

"No." He simply refused.

"Then come with me noisily," she sighed. "The corridors are filling with students even as we speak, but if you wish to cause a scene, then by all means. But one way or the other, you are going to the Hospital Wing."

"No."

"Severus…"

"Fuck you, Minerva," he hissed. "I don't need…"

"What you _need_ is for someone to turn you over and beat some sense into your arse," she replied, the concern in her voice replaced with irritation again, "and I only regret that no one did that twenty years ago, when there was still hope for you."

His eyes narrowed, and he felt a guarded expression closing his face to her. She couldn't possibly know surely her words had hit their mark. No hope for him. "No," he replied. "I need everyone to leave…me…the…hell…alone."

"Regardless of what you think," she told him, her voice taking on that professional tone again, "you are going to go to visit Madame Pomfrey. Either of your own free will, or under restraint. The choice is yours, Severus."

Hatred flashed in his eyes. "Fine," he hissed. "But as soon as Dumbledore gets back…"

"You will have ample time to talk with him," she assured him. "Now, I am going to open that door and you are going to behave, correct?"

He bristled at being spoken to like a misbehaving teenager again, but he nodded tersely.

"And do you have a suitable alternate lesson plan for your students? One that someone else could offer them? An essay or…"

"Properties of wormwood," he muttered. "Two feet of parchment."

"All right. Come along, now." He noticed with some part of his mind that wasn't busy being pissed off that Minerva tucked both his wand and her own into her robe after she changed the wall back into a door. She did not clutch his arm or say anything as they stepped out of the staff room, and the students did not seem to notice them as they scurried to their classes. She walked briskly beside him, and though she did not have any visible restraint on him, he had no doubt that she was capable of forcing him to do her bidding if he pressed the issue. His mind was already working on the protest he was going to mount with Dumbledore when the Headmaster returned.

They entered the infirmary as the bell tolled the beginning of classes, and Poppy emerged, as though on cue. "Ah," she said with a smile, "Professor Snape. What brings you here?"

She took it in stride well enough. A little too well, in fact, which led Severus to cast a withering look at McGonagall. The old bat had all this planned before she ever began talking to him. "Perhaps Professor McGonagall should explain," he replied venomously. "I, after all, am too _incompetent_ to even discuss truth serums with two dozen children, let alone my own health with two _rational_ adults."

Poppy smiled brightly. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad to know it hasn't affected your sweet disposition," she commented, then looked to McGonagall, an eyebrow raised.

McGonagall sighed. "Perhaps we could discuss this in your office, Poppy?" she suggested. Poppy's look of confusion seemed genuine enough, and Severus frowned. Perhaps she didn't know everything after all. The nurse gestured them towards her office, and Severus avoided looking at either, setting his usual brisk pace past the handful of students confined to beds. He seated himself, arms folded, and waited for the two women to join him. They arrived shortly after he did, and as soon as the door was shut, Poppy frowned deeply.

"What is going on, Minerva?" she asked, then looked questioningly at Severus, her raised eyebrow asking him the same question.

Severus turned his head and stared blankly out the window.

* * *

A/N: thanks for the chapter title suggestions!


	14. Resignation

The morning moved with an unusual degree of snail-like haste, with the minutes stretching interminably into hours, but the hours slipping past almost unnoticed. It was an odd quirk of time that the components of it could seem to last forever while the larger part zipped past. Rather like all those long days adding up to years that moved in a blur.

After a brief discussion between Poppy and that bat McGonagall, a discussion to which Severus was privy but not included, Minerva had left him sitting alone in Poppy's office, and the mediwitch had moved around to lean against her desk, facing him thoughtfully in much the same manner he had often faced miscreant students. After a long, agonizingly thorough perusal of him, she finally straightened and spoke softly.

"Well, Severus," she said softly. "How do you feel?"

He snorted. "Like a misbehaving schoolboy," he muttered under his breath. She looked confused and he forced a tight smile. "I'm fine, Poppy."

"Minerva seems to think that..."

"I am well aware of what Minerva thinks, having been subjected to it at length this morning."

Poppy pulled a chair around so she could sit facing him. "And you think that her concerns are unfounded." It was not a question, but a statement of fact.

For a long moment, Severus looked at the nurse, his black eyes searching her for a hint of her intentions. He found no hint. "It hardly matters what I think," he replied, averting his eyes to her bookcase.

"It matters a great deal, Severus, but only if you will _tell_ me," she said, her voice soft and yet firm. "You are my single most important source of information about you," she pointed out, "and if you will help me, I will be in a better position to help you."

Turning that over in his head for a moment, Severus finally pulled his eyes back to Poppy's face. "Do you believe I would hurt one of the students?" he asked softly, his voice betraying more than he would have desired.

"I don't believe you would hurt anyone intentionally," she replied with a slight smile. "I don't even think you would hurt an enemy intentionally. Although, you certainly put forth a good enough bluff that no one else likely realizes that."

He snorted softly, not sure how to take what she'd said. He was no coward, and no weakling, but there was truth to her statement; he'd seen enough and done enough that he'd little desire to be through all of it again. No, he most likely would not hurt anyone he could avoid hurting. "Then why am I here?" he asked pointedly.

"Because Minerva is of the opinion that you are not in complete control of yourself just now," Poppy replied simply. "And she fears that loss of control could be damaging."

"I told you," he said quietly, "I am well aware of what Minerva thinks. I want to know what you think."

She considered him carefully, then responded with chosen words. "I think that you have been under a great deal of pressure and stress for the last two years," she replied. "And I _know_ that pressure and stress can cause damage, both physical and emotional, that will not be repaired with a vial of Pepper-up."

"You think I'm incapable of managing my affairs anymore."

"I hope that isn't the case, Severus, and I have no reason to believe it is," she assured him. "But I am not at all unconvinced that the strain of the last two years hasn't left you in need of a... a healing period."

His eyes narrowed. "What are you suggesting, Poppy?"

She reached forward and patted his arm gently. "Only that I am taking Minerva's concerns very seriously," she replied. "But I am not going to write you off as incompetent unless I have considerably more evidence than a second-hand rumor that you lost your temper with an old rival."

The corners of his mouth twitched into a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

"I will, however, have to insist on a thorough examination. While I am not willing to jump to conclusions, I am also unwilling to blindly ignore the possibility that Minerva's concerns are not unfounded."

He nodded. "Of course," he replied.

She pulled him into a firm embrace, and for a moment, he leaned against her, grateful for her presence as he had been when he was a child and she was nursing an injury or an illness. Poppy Pomfrey had that comforting, unthreatening presence that anyone could appreciate, and it never seemed condescending. When he straightened, she let go. Perhaps that was why he was more capable of letting her offer him comfort than he was others; she never forced the issue, and it always came on his terms. "Now," she said briskly, walking behind her desk and sitting for a moment, peering into a drawer. "There are, of course, papers for you to sign. And, you do have the right to have someone else here with you, if you are concerned about my intentions. If you like, we can send for Professor Flitwick or..."

"I don't need supervision," he said evenly, folding his arms again.

Poppy's eyes twinkled slightly. "It is _your_ right to request that a male faculty member be present," she said with a half-hidden smile. "To supervise _me_."

His face darkened slightly from embarrassment. "I don't think that is necessary," he replied stiffly.

"Very well," she replied, pulling out a stack of parchment and a thick folder of pages. His records, he knew. Record of his years at Hogwarts: seven as a student and another fifteen as a teacher. For a moment, he wondered what he would do if they declared him unfit to continue teaching, and it made his chest constrict to think about it.

The examination went smoothly, and Severus found most of his apprehensions eased by Poppy's combination of professionalism and concern. He found himself answering questions he'd never have believed he would answer for _anyone_, least of all one of his colleagues, but she assured him that the matters they discussed would remain private, that only Dumbledore would be privy to her notes, and those only if he had a 'damn good reason' (her words, not his.) He could not, of course, tell her everything, and she seemed to accept that, and did not pry, but did not stop him if he volunteered information. In fact, she'd even coaxed most of the story of what had happened last night out of him, but he noticed that she only wrote a single line on her page. When she caught him looking at it, she offered to show him what she'd written. He shook his head.

"Perhaps when this is over?" he asked, and she nodded, agreeing to share her notes at the end of their 'discussion'.

The only time that professionalism wavered was when he admitted that he'd eaten only a bowl of soup since dinnertime Sunday. Her voice had been tight when she asked him why he hadn't been eating, and his answer (which was a perfectly logical one-- that he wasn't hungry) seemed to touch off fireworks in her.

"SEVERUS SNAPE!" she screeched, slamming her hand on her desk. "You miss _one_ meal because you 'aren't hungry'. Not three of the last four! I'm sending down for breakfast, what do you want?"

"Really," he insisted, "I'm not hungry..."

"Then you'd best tell me what you'd like to eat because you aren't moving from that chair until you've had a decent meal," she retorted. "So you might as well tell me what you'd like that meal to be." When he stubbornly refused again, she sent down, true to her word, and a few moments later a house elf appeared with a tray laden with pancakes, sausages, fruit and tea. He scowled slightly, but Poppy's face was unwavering, and he decided it in his best interest not to argue over something so trivial. She watched him for several minutes before seeming satisfied that he was obeying her orders, and then went on with the questions. His sleeping habits, his drinking habits, what he did in his spare time... there was no part of his life she didn't seem interested in prying into. And, invariably, the conversation steered towards his love life.

He'd snorted at that phrase. "No one loves me, Poppy," he told her firmly, without a trace of self-pity. "And that is for the best. Makes many things less complicated."

For a moment, she looked at him like she was going to tell him he was wrong, and, despite himself, he realized he was holding his breath. Was he hoping she would argue the point? She did not, though, and instead brought up Aislinn.

By lunchtime, he felt as though he'd been dragged naked through broken glass and deposited unceremoniously into a pit of alcohol. He was raw and aching from some of the questions she'd asked him, though he hid it well, behind one of his characteristic sneers and sarcastic quips. She presented him with another tray of food, and he obediently ate half a sandwich and half a bowl of soup before even her threats couldn't coax anything else down him; he thought that if he ate another bite he was going to be sick.

Finally, she led him to a bed at the back of the ward and drew the curtain, ordering him sternly to lie down and sleep. He protested, of course, but she withdrew a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion from her pocket and held it up, making sure the light caught the deep purple liquid. Her eyes clearly said that she knew he knew what was in that bottle, and that she knew he preferred not to drink it. "It is your choice, Severus," she said firmly, and, with a sigh of defeat, he'd settled onto the bed and allowed her to pull a blanket over him. "Just rest," she said softly. "It will do you more good than anything you could swallow right now."

Despite himself, he drifted to sleep.

* * *

"Severus." A soft voice accompanied by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Severus turned in the direction of the voice, fighting away the tattered remnants of sleep.

"Headmaster," he replied distantly, starting to sit up. Dumbledore pressed him gently back to the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

The concern in those blue eyes was genuine, but not enough to assuage Severus' irritation. "I'm _fine_," he insisted. He was beginning to sound like a bloody parrot.

"Are you?" he asked mildly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Minerva has spoken with me and..."

"...and you've come to make official what she was only able to begin." It was a blandly spoken statement, the emotionless tone carefully constructed to cover the pain he felt. The pain of betrayal.

"I've come to talk to you, my boy," Dumbledore said softly. "But perhaps this discussion will be better in my office."

Severus nodded numbly, trying to steel himself. Dumbledore was about to fire him. He could feel it. He had trusted the Headmaster for years, even when he trusted no one else. He'd thought Albus trusted him, when no one else did. It was painful to admit how important that mutual trust was, and he closed his eyes briefly.

"Can you walk?" Dumbledore asked softly, and Severus snorted derisively.

"Of course," he bit off his bitter reply. "There is nothing wrong with me."

Dumbledore nodded and stood, then backed away, drawing the curtains again. "I'll be waiting for you outside the door," the Headmaster assured him.

Severus sat up, and scrubbed a hand over his face, wondering how long he'd been asleep. Long enough, apparently, that he wasn't sure if the sleep had helped or made him feel worse. He pulled on his socks and shoes, and the billowing black robe for which he was so well-known, but for once, he felt as though it were swallowing him. As he slipped out from behind the curtain, Poppy smiled in his direction from across the room. It was a reassuring smile, but not enough to soothe his doubts. He held his head high, though, and set a brisk pace out of the infirmary, blatantly ignoring the surprised looks of students who had obviously not known he was there.

The walk to Dumbledore's office passed in silence, both men lost in their own thoughts. Severus knew what was coming, and was preparing his defenses, wondering if he would actually beg the Headmaster to allow him to stay if it came to it. He had never begged anything of anyone, but nothing had ever been so important to him as this, either.

When they reached the gargoyle guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's study, Dumbledore spoke the password (toffee crisp) and the spiraling staircase began to move. The ascent was as silent as the journey had been, and it was only after they were seated in a pair of wingback chairs before Dumbledore's desk that the silence was broken.

"Do you wish to tell me what has happened?" Dumbledore asked softly.

Severus shrugged. "There's little to tell, and I doubt little that you haven't heard."

"I haven't heard it from you."

That took Severus aback for a moment, but he shook his head firmly. "I am not going to offer inane explanations," he insisted, his mouth seemingly operating independently of his brain. _You're supposed to be convincing him to let you stay, not angering him,_ came a voice from within his head.

"I don't need an explanation, Severus," Dumbledore said softly. "I need to know whether you have regained control over yourself."

"I have a greater degree of control than most of the people around here."

Dumbledore nodded. "I know, my boy. But Minerva tells me that you threw Remus from your rooms last night. That you threatened him."

"I'd still like to know how she knows about that," Severus muttered. "Or perhaps he isn't so hesitant to tell her when it is his own skin in danger."

Dumbledore's look was stern, and his eyes held none of the customary twinkle. "As I understand it, she met him in the corridor and invited him for a drink. He was of the impression that your anger was more than justified."

"Oh."

"Minerva also tells me that you lost your temper with her this morning."

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS SO WRONG WITH MY LOSING MY TEMPER?" Severus yelled suddenly. "AND WHY AM I THE ONE BEING SUBJECTED TO THIS TRIAL WHEN SHE WAS JUST AS HOT-HEADED AS SHE ALWAYS IS?"

Dumbledore rested a calming hand on Severus' arm. "Calm down, Severus," he murmured. "You are exactly right, Minerva's temper was inexcusable as well, and she told me she lost it with you."

"And yet," Severus hissed, still struggling for control, "I am the one who is sitting here, and I am the one who was _relieved_ of my classroom duties."

"Minerva loses her temper daily, if not hourly," Dumbledore said softly. "It is not unusual. You, on the other hand, have a most uncanny degree of self control, as you said earlier."

"So," he spat, "the fact that I do not normally lose my temper makes it more detestable when I do."

"The fact that you seldom lose your temper makes it a point of concern when you lose it twice in twenty-four hours. Three times, now. And, coupled with the displays at Headquarters this weekend..."

"I can't believe this," Severus murmured, lowering his head into his hand. "This is priceless. You're going to sack me because I told Minerva where to shove it and because I told Lupin to sod off."

Dumbledore chuckled softly and stood, moving behind Severus and placing a hand on each of his shoulders. "I am not going to sack you at all, Severus," he said softly.

Severus' eyes widened and he turned to look at the Headmaster, who was smiling, his eyes twinkling again.

"I know that these past few weeks have been difficult for you," Dumbledore said softly, squeezing Severus' shoulders. "And I do not blame you, and I understand, and I think that a short temper is most excusable for the moment. I am, however, in agreement with Minerva about one thing-- this sudden lack of control is frightening, and I would not want to see a student hurt for inadvertently reminding you of something you preferred to forget."

Severus' shoulders drooped slightly. "I would not hurt a student," he insisted softly.

The headmaster pulled a chair directly in front of Severus and sat, taking his hands and leaning forward slightly. "I know you would not," he said resolutely. "Not intentionally. If I had even the slightest suspicion that you were a danger to students, you would not be here, Severus. But I am afraid that your control will waver and you will not see the danger until it has passed."

Severus shook his head. "I don't... I wouldn't..."

He found himself pulled into a tight embrace again, and Dumbledore whispered against his head, "Listen to me," he murmured. "I think that you need a few days. You were saying it all weekend, and I've come to decide that perhaps you were right. Perhaps what you do need is some time to yourself, to compose yourself. I am sorry I would not give it to you this weekend, but I give it to you now."

Severus pulled away suddenly, and scowled. "You made a promise," he hissed. "And..."

"And I have kept it. This was not my decision, Severus, though if it had been brought to my attention, I would have reached the same conclusion, promises be damned. Listen to me..."

"Why?"

"Because what I am saying makes sense. It pains me that you cannot trust me just now; I think that it is as important to me that you trust me as it is to you that I trust you. And I do trust you, Severus, and I think that you trust me, even if you are too hurt and angry right now to remember it. I do not want to see you hurt worse, though. Can you accept that?"

He laughed humorlessly. "Of course," he muttered. "A dead spy can pass no information."

"Another friend lost to this war would break my heart," Dumbledore rejoined. "And I count you among my friends. It is for your protection that I want you to take this time. For your protection and mine and the school's and our world's. In case you have forgotten, you have an important engagement in less than two weeks, and if you cannot control yourself then..." The Headmaster didn't have to finish the sentence. Severus knew the consequences. "I wish this burden did not fall on your shoulders, my boy," Dumbledore said quietly. "But there is little I can do about it. I wish I could afford to merely worry about you and your healing from the wounds you've sustained in the past years, but I haven't that luxury. I want you to be happy, Severus, because you are like a son to me, but I _need_ you to be in possession of all your considerable skills when you meet with Voldemort next. I was a fool for trying to help you heal before, when there is no time for healing. I should have left you to bury yourself as you always have, and trusted that you knew best how to manage your pain, but in my meddling concern, I would not allow that. But now I must insist."

Severus nodded slowly, trying to take in everything the Headmaster had said. He bloody _hated_ it when Dumbledore was right. "You're not firing me," he repeated, and instantly berated himself for foolishness. Out of _everything_ Dumbledore had just said, was that really the one point most worthy of comment?

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "No, Severus. I believe that would be akin to cutting off my nose to spite my face. Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a competent wizard or witch to teach potions? You are an asset to this school that I could not afford to lose, and that is personal feelings aside. Just as you are an asset to the Order that I do not want to lose." Dumbledore took his face between bony-fingered hands and lifted it to look at him. "And as a friend, I would be heartbroken to lose you."

After a long, steadying breath, Severus nodded. "Very well," he said softly. "What do you want me to do?"

* * *

A/N: thank you, Average and Silverthreads... I found that writing the last chapter was... utterly beyond my control actually. I'd intended a scene in Potions class (not a violent scene, just a scene of irritation) and possibly another Occlumency lesson. I don't know where McGonagall came from, but she certainly was upset... It would seem that the characters have stopped consulting me. I certainly didn't give Snape the permission to lose his temper with such forceful language... ah well. Hope you liked this chapter too.


	15. Was that an apology?

Severus spent only a few minutes packing a bag for his little hiatus from Hogwarts, and, as he looked around his rooms, he felt an odd sense of leaving home, which was utterly ridiculous on some level and quite understandable on another. Hogwarts was his home, in the sense that he lived there, but there was more to it than that. It was also the only place he could ever remember _feeling_ like a home. From the time he was eleven years old and first stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, Severus had never known any other place to be a home. And, he realized with a start, he had literally spent more than half his life in these walls.

"Stupid, sentimental fool," he muttered irately at himself and picked up his bag and his traveling cloak. "It isn't as though you're leaving forever. Only for a week. You've been gone for a week before." But, he had never taken a vacation. Not one. In sixteen years of teaching at Hogwarts, he had never left the school for personal reasons for more than a few hours. There had been missions for the Order, and summons from the Dark Lord, but _never_ a journey that had no purpose.

Pausing at the doorway, he looked back at his bedchamber for a moment and closed his eyes, trying to block the memories that continued to plague him. Dumbledore, while insisting that he not be alone in his chambers, had fallen somewhat short of actually monitoring his movements, and was waiting in his sitting room. The Headmaster had studiously ignored the shattered glass that still littered the floor, and, when Severus stepped into his bedchamber to pack, Dumbledore had been seated with a book. He was most likely still in there. For a moment, he leaned against the doorframe, then took a deep breath and straightened. When he opened the door to step into his sitting room, Dumbledore looked up and smiled. "Do you have everything you need?" he asked.

Severus nodded.

"Very well, my boy," Dumbledore said, standing. "I've already contacted Remus and told him that you're coming through, so he's expecting you."

Again, Severus nodded.

"Do try to enjoy yourself," the Headmaster smiled and placed a gentle hand on Severus' shoulder. Severus said nothing as he picked up a fistful of Floo powder and stepped into the fireplace.

"Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," he said clearly, and dropped the glittering powder. In a flare of emerald smoke he was gone. When he emerged in the kitchen of the Black House, Severus looked around suspiciously, and then his eyes settled on the table. There was a folded piece of parchment with his name on it, and he walked over to it, shifting his bag to his left hand as he flicked the page open with his right.

I went out. I'll be back around 10. The second bedroom on the third floor is probably the cleanest in the house, and there is fresh bedding in the second floor linen closet. Make yourself at home. RL.

A glance at the clock told Severus he had nearly two hours before the other occupant of the house returned, a fact for which he was grateful. There was a sudden whistling brought his attention to the stove, and he couldn't help a small smile at the tea kettle that was so proudly announcing its accomplishment. Severus walked over to it and his eyes drifted to a teacup and saucer on the counter beside the little teapot, and a pair of small canisters which were out of line with the rest of them. Peering inside, he found bags in one and leaves in the other. He selected a bag and dropped it in the cup, then poured in the steaming water, setting the cup aside to let it steep for a few minutes while he ventured upstairs. True to his word, the indicated bedroom was clean and sparsely furnished with mismatched furniture, but the bed looked comfortable enough, and there was no dust or mildew to be seen. He opened the top drawer of the dresser and peered inside, then looked in the wardrobe. Satisfied that the room was not going to kill him (always a distinct possibility in this house), Severus placed his bag on the bed and went back downstairs, retrieving his tea and pausing on the second floor to find bedding, which was folded neatly in the linen closet as the note had said it would be.

He moved slowly and deliberately around his temporary bedroom, making the bed, frowning at the curtains. He pointed his wand at his bag and it opened, and his belongings returned to their original size as he made himself comfortable. At least, as comfortable as he could. The sheets were clean, but they were white cotton, and a low thread count, though much of the discomfort he might associate with such poor quality sheets had been negated by their obvious age. The fabric was almost buttery underneath his fingers. The quilt was also soft and worn with age, and, despite being clean, it smelled faintly of previous owners. There was a desk against one wall, and it wobbled slightly when he touched it, but a brief spell stabilized it, and a murmured 'lumos' brought the lamp on it to life. He placed the few books he'd brought with him against the wall, frowning slightly at the titles. Three works of fiction and a biography. Hardly the study material he would normally have brought, but Dumbledore was quite insistent that he not bring his work along with him.

Slowly, the time passed, and, as Severus reached for the last of his belongings, he heard the door open downstairs. With a frown, he looked at the book in his hand, not recognizing it for a moment, but after thumbing through the blank pages, it dawned on him what it was. A journal that Hermione Granger had given him for his birthday. _A birthday gift._ That was still odd when he considered it-- Aislinn had celebrated his birthday, and, for the first time in years, he'd had gifts and none of them were cruel pranks. He remembered thinking how odd it was to receive a journal; after all, he'd never written in one. And he didn't know what had possessed him to pick it up this time. Frowning, he looked for a place to put it, and his eyes landed on the bedside table. Opening the drawer to drop it in, his frown deepened as he peered inside.

"Did you find everything all right?"

Severus glanced over his shoulder at Lupin, who was standing in the hall, not even touching the door.

"Of course," he replied, frowning into the drawer again. "I'm not daft."

There was a moment of silence, and Severus considered the small, clear vial he'd been staring at. It looked innocuous enough, but he was suspicious of it, and he wished that Lupin would go away so that he wouldn't have to endure the chortles of laughter if it turned out to be nothing but a spare bottle rolling around in the drawer of a forgotten room in an old house.

"Is something wrong?" Lupin asked, and another glance showed that he'd advanced a step, but still stood outside the door.

Severus frowned slightly. "Of course not," he replied, forcing his apprehensions aside. _It's just a bottle_, he chided himself. _Just pick it up and throw it out_.

"Is there something in the drawer?" Lupin prompted, and with a sneer, Severus dropped the journal into the drawer and slammed it.

"Just an old bottle," he replied off-handedly.

Lupin finally entered the room, wand drawn, and opened the drawer. "Ridikulus!" he pointed his wand at the bottle, and it morphed into a crystal orb, which Lupin snatched up with a handkerchief. "Boggart," he explained needlessly, and Severus glared slightly. "Sorry about that. I didn't know he was there, or I'd have already taken care of him."

"I am capable of taking care of boggarts," Severus said stiffly.

Lupin offered a weak smile. "I know," he replied. "But it isn't particularly hospitable to leave a boggart in one's houseguest's rooms."

Severus shrugged uncomfortably.

"Sorry to intrude," Lupin said softly, his smile fading. "If you need anything, let me know." The werewolf turned to leave, and he was halfway out the door when Severus spoke.

"Wait."

Lupin stopped and turned around slowly. "Yes?" he asked.

Severus' lips curled into a sneer of sorts, but he forced himself to speak. "I... feel I owe you an apology," he said, the words much more difficult to force out of his mouth than he'd anticipated.

Remus breathed a slight laugh. "I owe you several," he replied. "But I've never had much success offering them."

He thought about that for a moment, but could find nothing overly offensive about the statement. "I was unnecessarily harsh last night," Severus said stiffly.

"And I was unnecessarily persistent," Lupin replied off-handedly. "Shall we call it bygones?"

For a moment, Severus just stared, but then nodded slowly. Was that how one accepted an apology gracefully? He glanced around the room, his eyes flitting from bed to chair to desk to wardrobe, not sure what to do or say next. Wasn't that the story of his life? How ironic was it that he was capable of attending Death Eater meetings and of facing down errant students. But a simple conversation with another human... He snorted softly.

"Was that a yes?"

"I suppose so."

There was a pause, then Lupin cleared his throat. "Mind if I sit?" he asked, indicating one of the two chairs.

"Please," Severus waved slightly at the chair, settling himself into the other. Lupin took his seat.

There was a moment of silence, and then Lupin spoke. "Honestly, Severus," he said softly, "just between us. Are you all right?"

"Of course I'm..." he began heatedly, then paused. "Honestly?" he asked softly.

"Honestly."

Severus frowned again. "I guess I'm probably not coping as well as I should be."

Lupin shifted in his chair. "Is there anything I can do to help you?" he asked, and the concern sounded genuine.

"I don't know," Severus murmured. "I've never..." he frowned, trailing off.

"Never lost anyone you cared about?" Remus suggested softly, and at first, Severus nodded, then suddenly shook his head.

"No, that's not really true," he said thoughtfully. "But it has been a long time since I've cared about anyone and I was...am… rather out of practice." He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands on his stomach. "Caught unprepared for everything involved in caring about someone."

Lupin nodded and shifted again. "These aren't the most comfortable chairs in the world, are they?" he asked.

Severus snorted. "Not really," he agreed.

"Come down to the kitchen? I think Molly left about half a cake there."

After a long, considering pause, Severus nodded. "Very well."

Lupin rose and walked out of the bedroom, and, after a moment's hesitation in which he tried to decide whether or not to ward the room, Severus followed. He did not even shut the door, deciding that the only other person in the house was the man he was following downstairs. When they reached the kitchen, Lupin illuminated the room with a wave of his wand, and gestured at the table. Severus seated himself, and, after a moment, Lupin placed two plates, two forks and a half a cake on the table in front of him. Severus uncovered the cake while Lupin disappeared again, and he was busy eyeing the sweet when the werewolf returned with two bottles in his hand.

"What's that?" Severus asked as Lupin placed one of the bottles in front of him.

Lupin laughed. "Don't tell me you've never seen a beer," he chided, popping the top off his bottle.

Severus frowned slightly. "I must say my tastes generally run in a more civilized direction."

Lupin shrugged and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking a healthy drink. "Suit yourself," he replied indifferently, picking up the knife. He grinned suddenly. "Want half?" he asked, carving the remainder of the cake in half and scraping the large chunk of chocolate onto a plate. He offered it to Severus, who stared at it for a minute before taking it.

"Thank you," he said, still staring at the cake that was now in his own hand.

Lupin's grin slipped into a more melancholy smile as he placed the remainder of the cake on his own plate and picked up a fork. "James' mum made the best carrot cake," he said softly. "We used to go to his house in the summer and shed bake a cake, and Sirius'd filch it at night and the four of us would split it. She always yelled the next morning when there was none left, but you could tell she didn't mean it; and she always left it out where we could find it."

Severus snorted softly. "She must have been a woman of remarkable patience to put up with the lot of you."

Lupin smiled wistfully. "She was," he replied, then shook his head, as though to clear the thought from it. "Didn't your mum ever do things like that for you and your friends?"

"I can't imagine my mother baking," Severus replied shortly. "And I never had friends. But then, you knew that."

Lupin frowned and took a bite of his cake. "But why didn't you? I mean, I know we were pricks, but there were enough other people who thought so that surely…"

"I preferred it that way." Severus took a sudden interest in his cake, slicing off a large wedge with the edge of his fork, and then dividing it into three pieces. There was silence from across the table, and for a moment, it was the same strained quiet that there had often been when he and Lupin were in the same room.

"But why?" Lupin asked suddenly.

Severus sighed. "What does it matter?"

"I don't know," the other man said with a shrug, taking another drink. "I guess I just don't understand. I've been utterly alone for so much of my life, and I've hated every minute of it. The only times I've ever felt like there was something worth living for was when I was around my friends, and I… I just don't understand why anyone would choose to live a life of solitude."

Severus dropped his fork and rubbed the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Solitude is far preferable to prying, inane questions," he said pointedly, and Lupin chuckled.

"All right," he said. "I'm just trying to make conversation. You pick something."

"If I had your notable ability to make conversation out of nothing, I likely would have more friends," he pointed out testily.

Remus sighed. "You know, you could put some effort into this."

"Why? You're doing a fine job by yourself."

Remus sighed and his fork clattered to his plate. "You know something, Severus," he began, "you are your own worst enemy. I am not going to sit here and take abuse from you while I try to be friendly. I _thought_ perhaps you would like to have a friendly face here, but if this is the way you wish to conduct the next week, I will see to it that I stay out of your way and will appreciate you staying out of mine. This house is more than big enough for two people to live in it without speaking to or looking at each other." The last was said softly enough that it made Severus wonder if there was a double meaning to it. He hadn't the time to ponder it for long, though, before Remus stood, gathering his beer and cake. "Good night."

Severus stabbed irately at his cake for a moment, shearing off another thin sliver of it and separating cake from frosting. Remus was halfway to the door when he decided to speak. "Wait."

Remus paused and turned around, raising his eyebrows. "What?"

Good question. Think, damn you. An excuse. "I… er…" he took a bite of his cake and chewed slowly before continuing, buying himself a moment to cast around for a reason to have stopped him. "We haven't discussed the price of the room I'm renting from…"

"Consider it a gift."

Severus frowned. "Have you become independently wealthy that you needn't an additional income? Last I checked, you weren't gainfully employed and…"

"Thanks to you," Remus said bitterly. "And you are the last person I want a handout from. Is there anything else? Surely you have a parting insult to fling at me before I go up to revel in my solitude."

Severus looked down at his plate and pushed another piece of cake around on it. "No," he said softly. "I suppose not." He had the most ridiculous urge to apologize to Lupin. Utterly ridiculous. He took another bite of cake.

"Good night then. You know where the tea is, and Molly left some sticky buns. They're in the pantry if you want some for breakfast." He shifted his beer to the hand he was holding his cake in and reached for the door.

"Wait."

"WHAT? Would you please stop toying with me, Severus? Please?"

Severus took another miniscule bite of cake. "I… er…" he used one tine of the fork to separate a nut from the frosting and pushed it to the edge of the plate. "You don't have to leave," he said after a moment. "I didn't intend to drive you from your own kitchen."

Once more, Remus studied him for a minute, then sighed. "Do you want me to stay down here?"

It was as though warning bells were going off in his head, and Severus shoved a large bite of the cake into his mouth. When he swallowed, he shrugged. "I just…" he frowned at his fork as though it were suddenly deeply offensive to him. "I wasn't trying to insult you," he said softly.

Remus snorted softly. "Was that an apology?"

"Close as you're going to get," Severus replied tightly, and for a minute, he thought that Remus was going to roll his eyes and stalk out. He didn't, though, and was chuckling as he brought his cake and beer back to the table.

"Accepted, then," he replied, sitting again.

Severus looked at the beer in front of him again. _It's just because the cake is so damn sweet,_ he rationalized as he reached for it. His interest in it ended rather abruptly as he realized that the lid capping it was not something he was familiar with, and _damned_ if he was going to ask Remus how to open a bottle of beer. Remus didn't make him ask it, but reached for the bottle, picking up a small metal… thing… that was lying on the table. Severus set to watch surreptitiously, but realized it was unnecessary, as Remus kept it in plain sight as he pressed the rounded end of the metal thing against the top of the cap and hooked a small protrusion under the edge, popping off the top. Without a word, he placed the bottle in front of Severus again.

"Thank you," Severus conceded softly, reaching for the bottle.

Remus shrugged. "Any time." He looked as though he wanted to say more, but didn't.

Severus studied the bottle for a moment, then sniffed cautiously at it, recoiling slightly before he caught himself. It smelled awful. Steeling himself for something unpleasant, he took a deep breath and drank from the bottle, pleasantly surprised that it didn't taste as bad as it smelled.

"You've really never had a beer." This time it was a statement, and edged with incredulity.

"I really haven't," Severus replied, looking at the bottle again. It really wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Remus shook his head in disbelief, and Severus paused with the bottle at his lips. "When was the last time you drank cognac, Remus?" he asked conversationally.

Remus laughed. "Point taken."

Severus' lips curled slightly before he drank again. "Really," he said. "Have you ever had cognac?"

Remus shook his head, taking another bite of his cake. "Too expensive," he replied as he swallowed. "I've never had that much money to spend on one bottle of alcohol."

"And you friends?" Severus asked, knowing that Black, at least, couldn't say the same. And likely not Potter.

Snorting softly, Remus shook his head. "Fifteen years ago, we were still drowning ourselves in kegs of beer," he replied, his eyes taking on a faraway look again. "Lily used to come down around two in the morning with her hands on her hips telling James that if he didn't make it to bed that night, he needn't bother trying for the next week."

Despite himself, Severus chuckled. "Did it work?"

Remus grinned. "Not the first time, but I think she made a believer of him. And that was barely two weeks after they got married." Another bite of cake and another swig of beer, and Severus shook his head, regaining most of his disdain. _Rutting fool probably couldn't stand to be deprived for a week._ Remus seemed to read his mind, though. "You know how women can be bloody persuasive," he commented dryly.

Severus nearly retorted that he had no idea what Remus was talking about, but he stopped short, a memory of Aislinn urging him into Muggle clothing on Christmas Eve overtaking his innate instinct to protest. "I suppose so," he replied softly.

There was a long pause, then Remus stood. "Want another beer?" he asked. Severus hefted his bottle and was surprised to realize there was less than a fourth of it left.

"Please."

A moment later, Remus returned, and opened his bottle, then sat again. "You know," he began thoughtfully, his fingers turning the bottle in a slow circle, "you didn't tell me much about her before we were interrupted the other day. She was a student of yours who came back to teach divination…?"

Severus' frowned deepened and he momentarily considered telling Remus to sod off. The beer, however, was making him feel a bit more mellow than normal, and, draining the last of it, he couldn't think of a reason in the world to not tell the other man what a wonderful woman Aislinn had been. At least, he justified his willingness to talk by blaming it on the beer, unlikely though that was, given his own drinking habits. He separated another corner of the cake, and set to dividing it by layers. "She was decidedly not my type," he said softly. "Always cheerful, always going on about some silly Muggle version of magic. Wishing wells and shooting stars," the reminiscent smile on his face belied the spiteful words.

"No harm there," Lupin commented neutrally.

"I suppose not," Severus shrugged. "She had all the sense of a rock, though, and that famed Gryffindor courage. Really, she needed a keeper." _And you relished that role, didn't you? Her protector. Rescuing her from crises of her own making._

"How do you mean?"

Severus snorted softly, but his lips were curled into a slight smile still. "She wore the most ridiculous shoes," he replied quietly. "She was already as tall as you are, if not taller, and the shoes she wore added another three inches. I don't think I've ever had to look _up_ to look a woman in the eye."

Remus' eyes widened slightly. "I can imagine," he replied. He wasn't overly tall, but Severus doubted many women looked him in the eye either.

"She came down to speak to me, and she… I don't know. She fell. Hurt her ankle. Those damn shoes."

"Not seriously hurt, I hope?"

Severus sneered slightly. "Just serious enough to be under Pomfrey's care for the next two days."

Lupin grimaced, but nodded.

"It was just before the Halloween Feast. There was a dance this year for the older students. An she was determined to join the festivities." He suddenly laughed, a genuine, if unaccustomed sound. "Do you know what she did?"

Lupin shook his head. "I'm sure I couldn't guess," he replied, drinking again.

Severus' laugh faded into a fond smile. "All the students were just milling about, not dancing. You know how students are," Remus nodded, a sardonic smile on his face. Severus knew that they'd all been as bad when they were that age. "She went over to a group of the boys and invited one of them to dance with her."

Remus grinned. "That probably made some bloke's night."

Severus laughed softly. "That isn't the half of it. The Defense teacher asked one of the girls to dance, and halfway through the song, he and Aislinn conveniently switched partners, so the students were dancing." He shook his head. "We all joined in the conspiracy. Almost all of us."

"Did you?" Remus asked.

For a moment, Severus was quiet; even the memory still surprised him. "Yeah," he replied softly. "Even me. We spent most of the night pairing up students."

"It was a brilliant idea, really, wasn't it?"

Severus nodded, reaching for the metal thing and studying it for a minute before attempting to pop off the top of the next beer. To his relief, it didn't require any great skill, and he didn't make a fool of himself. "Quite. She was always doing things to make other people's lives a little brighter."

"Including yours." Remus' smile was not pitying, but… understanding.

Severus nodded, then shook his head. "We spent the first six weeks of the term at each other's throats," he admitted. "She was everything I despised, constantly making a fool of me. _Enjoying _it."

"What changed?"

Flushing slightly, Severus quickly took a long drink of his beer. "She, erm…" he grimaced. "She interpreted my astrological chart. I… I think she felt sorry for me and… decided to be nice."

Remus snorted softly. "Divination. Of course. I keep having an image of Sybill."

Severus shook his head firmly. "Banish the thought," he replied. "Couldn't have been more different. And, what she said in her interpretation was… spot on, really."

"Really?" The other man sounded impressed. "Must have been lucky guesses. Or she talked to someone."

With a shrug, Severus took another bite of his cake, suddenly realizing that it was more than half gone. He'd _never_ eaten that much cake. "I thought so too at first," he said thoughtfully. "And I thought her shooting stars and wishing wells and such were… rot."

"And now you don't?" Remus didn't sound particularly convinced.

Severus shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "It's complicated."

"I have time," Remus replied casually, taking another swig of his beer.

After a moment's consideration, Severus began a halting account of Christmas Eve, and St. Aldegundis Children's Hospital. They talked until nearly four in the morning, conversation coming more easily as the night stretched on and the beer flowed.


	16. Unusual, to say the least

"Ah, Severus! You're early."

Severus spun around to see the tiny woman precariously balancing three brown paper bags in her arms while she fished for something in her pocket. Suddenly envisioning the bags flying everywhere, Severus reached for two of them, relieving her of the burden. "Only by five minutes," he protested slightly as she apparently found what she'd been searching for—a key, which she shoved into the door and turned.

He had sent an owl to her that afternoon, asking her if it would be all right for him to come by around six, and she'd sent the owl back, once again disbelieving of the method of delivery, but assuring him that six would be fine. That had been around one, when Severus had first stumbled out of bed, his head reeling from the after effects of beer and the late night. After receiving her reply, he'd promptly fallen back into bed, awakening again at four. After a shower, he'd made his excuses to Lupin, who had looked marginally disappointed, but told him to have fun. He'd not, of course, told the werewolf exactly where he was going.

"Early is early," she replied, but her eyes were sparkling. "Come in. Have you eaten already?"

"Erm, no, but I really—"

"Fantastic! Then of course you'll stay for dinner?" she was ushering him inside, quite an accomplishment for a woman who was a good foot shorter than he. "It will be ready in an hour," she promised.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt…" he replied, but his mind screamed at him. _What are you thinking??_

"Excellent! Just leave the bags on the counter and make yourself comfortable, and pardon me for a minute while I change… been at work all day."

He looked at her clothes for the first time, and nodded blandly. She was wearing black slacks and a white shirt, and he didn't see anything wrong with it, but supposed she had her reasons for wanting to change. She deposited her bag of groceries onto the counter, and ducked under his arm, heading towards a doorway, leaving Severus to stare after her. She was a bundle of energy that would have made Aislinn look like a laze-about.

"There are glasses in the cupboard above the sink," Autumn was calling through the half-ajar door of the room into which she'd disappeared. "And you can see what's laying around. I have cola and orange juice and there might be a beer or something in the fridge. Or have some wine. Aislinn said you liked a good wine, but I don't know how she'd know. She wouldn't have known a good wine if it bit her."

Severus snorted softly, and looked around the kitchen, not moving. It was clean-looking, but cluttered and largely mismatched. A collection of pots hung on the wall, some steel and some cast iron and some a brilliant cobalt blue, and all of them looking somehow like they belonged together. A jumble of handles stuck out from the top of a rose-painted jar, and Severus lifted a few of the utensils, shaking his head to see knives and forks mixed in with spoons and spatulas. The rug on the floor was green, the tiles beneath it yellow, the countertops looked as though they had once been white but were stained in many places. He ran a finger across the counter, though, and didn't even feel a film of grease. "If she knew I like a good wine, it's because I told her," he commented dryly, though part of his soul pricked at criticizing his beloved Aislinn. _But it isn't really criticism, is it? It's one of the reasons you loved her._

Autumn emerged again, this time in blue jeans and a red shirt with the bold statement 'hottie' across the front of it. For the first time, Severus was struck by the curves she possessed, her breasts compared to waist compared to hips. There was a soft roundness about her that he felt himself stirring to, and quickly pulled his attention back to her face. She was raking her hair into a high ponytail, an oddly scrunched band on her wrist, nearly half the locks falling out of the bottom of the gathered hair as she wound the band around it. She plucked a clip from her mouth and shoved it expertly into the hair at her temple, then shoved the other one into place as well, securing all her hair away from her face.

"Would you like some wine?" she asked, sidling into the kitchen and opening a drawer. She pulled out a corkscrew and placed it on the counter, then crouched, opening a lower cabinet to reveal two neat shelves of bottles. Severus was marginally impressed. "I'm cooking with pinot grigio," she told him, glancing up at him, "but like I said, it will be an hour before I have dinner done, so if you want a nice red or… hrm." She plucked a greenish-tinted bottle from one end, then slid over to the stove, bending once more and pulling a skillet from another low cabinet. She placed it on the stove and turned the fire on under it, then opened the refrigerator, pulling out a tub of butter. Almost casually, she selected a turning fork from the collection in the jar and used it to remove a glob of butter from the tub, placing fork and butter in the rapidly heating skillet. Severus watched, entranced, as she reached into one of the brown bags she'd brought home and pulled out a package of pale meat.

"What's that?" he asked curiously, and she grinned up at him.

"Turkey," she replied, peeling away the plastic covering and rinsing the meat in the sink before glancing at the skillet again. She held her palm over the surface of the skillet, so close that Severus was sure the butter was spattering her hand, and then, apparently content with the temperature, she dropped the turkey into it. It sizzled, and she turned to wash her hands, then began applying a collection of powders to it. Salt and pepper, obviously, and something else he had to squint at to read. Garlic powder. _Why would anyone powder garlic?_ He continued to watch her as she flipped the turkey over, and powdered the now cooked side, the other side now sizzling in the skillet.

"Make yourself useful and open that bottle for me, please," she pointed with her fork at the bottle she'd retrieved from the cupboard and the corkscrew on the counter beside it. He nodded, his eyes still on her as he twisted the corkscrew into the cork and pulled it out deftly, placing the bottle on the counter again.

"If you'll tell me how much you need, I'll…" he trailed off as she grinned at him and picked up the bottle, then poured a liberal splash into the skillet.

"If you want to help," she said, "you can slice onions. Here," she reached into the jar of utensils again and came up with a sharp-looking knife, which she offered him, the blade against her arm as she extended the handle towards him. He took it, and she pointed at the end of the counter. "There's a cutting board there," she told him, plunking a lid onto the skillet and adjusting the heat, then reaching into another bag and pulling out half a dozen fist-sized onions. "Just in thin rings." He picked up one of the onions and turned it over speculatively.

"You do want me to peel it first…?" he asked, and she paused, standing on her toes and peering into a bag. Her head turned towards him slowly.

"Have you ever seen a recipe that called for the onion skin?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I haven't. So I thought it went without saying."

Severus snorted softly. "I wasn't aware you were using a recipe, Miss…"

"Autumn," she replied, a two-syllable dead end to the line of questioning. "And my recipe is here," she tapped her right temple with a finger, and smiled sweetly. "And yes, Severus, _peel_ the onion before you slice it. And chop off the ends, too."

He was about to protest as she hopped up onto the counter suddenly and rose to her knees so she could reach a top shelf, but by the time he could formulate words, she was already down again, a bowl in her hands. She offered him the bowl, and he frowned slightly. "I could have reached that for you."

She shrugged. "I reached it just fine," she replied. She moved the bags to the other end of the counter and began digging around in one, then came up with a bunch of herbs and a triumphant smile. She reached for a colander that was hanging on the wall behind the stove, and dumped the greenery into it, then washed it under a stream of water in the sink. "Pardon me," she said, reaching around him, and he stiffened as she brushed against his back. She, however, didn't seem to notice as she took a second cutting board from the wall and then returned to the other end of the counter.

For a moment, Severus was entranced again watching her. Where he was carefully slicing the onions into thin rings, he noticed that her approach with her knife was much more haphazard, with her taking care only initially in removing the stems and then the knife moving in a flurry of chops that quickly decimated the pile of herbs to a small paste of green. She used the flat side of the knife blade to scoop up the herbs and then lifted the lid to the skillet, adding them to the now-simmering wine. With a sweep of her hand, she deposited the cutting board and knife into the sink, then peered into one of the bags again. She started pulling out a medley of vegetables, pulling them out of their bags as she set them on the counter. He was still on the third onion when she had a salad completely assembled, having, to Severus' horror, used her _hand_ as a cutting board for the vegetables. As she placed the bowl in the refrigerator, though, he couldn't help but admire the sure way she moved about the kitchen. He didn't precisely approve of her methods (and this was brought to light again as she haphazardly dumped a collection of spices, oil, vinegar and sugar into a glass measuring cup and beat it vigorously with a fork) and the kitchen was looking increasingly like a hurricane had blown through it, but there was something appealing about the way she was preparing everything.

He watched as she pulled out another skillet and set it on the stove, then added another lump of butter in largely the same way she'd done the first time, and then reached for the bowl of onions he'd been slicing. He was still working on the last one, but that didn't seem to faze her as she dumped the bowl into the skillet and stirred the onions into the butter. She placed the lid on it, then reached into the counter above the sink and retrieved a pair of wine glasses. "Pinot grigio?" she asked, indicating the remainder of the bottle she'd used on the turkey, "or something else? I have a couple of Merlots, and a pinot noir, and some phenomenal Beaujolais…"

"Phenomenal?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he deposited the last of the onions into the bowl she'd returned to him. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Fantastic," she asserted. She was kneeling before the cabinet again, and she had a second bottle of the pinot grigio in her hand, and a stopper, which she shoved unceremoniously into the opened bottle. She gathered them both and placed them in the freezer.

"Perhaps some of the Beaujolais, then," he replied, watching as she bent once more to retrieve the bottle. She handed it to him, and he reached for the corkscrew again, opening that bottle as well while she moved away from the kitchen, gathering an armful of trash as she went and depositing it in one side of the sink. Her fingers flitted over the stove, and, after a series of beeps, she nodded and seemed satisfied.

"Come on," she urged, picking up the two wine glasses and leading the way into the living room. She placed the glasses on a cocktail table then was off to a cabinet, which she opened, and her fingers flitted over it as well before a soft music flooded the room. She touched a plate on the wall, and the lights dimmed. Severus poured the wine while she padded barefoot around the room, lighting candles.

As he settled onto the sofa, he had an opportunity to really study his surroundings for a moment. The room was decorated in shades of violet and blue, not a combination he would have chosen, but it had an ethereal feel to it that he could appreciate at least. It was neat, and mostly uncluttered, though small oddities were tucked onto tables and shelves, drawing the eye around the room. One wall was covered with candles, small tea lights that twinkled from within glass sconces, providing a soft glow. There was a small black fountain with a spinning ball of blue marble floating on the water, and a vase of small white flowers behind it. A small sidebar in the corner held a number of small blue jars, and another vase, this one full of incense, sat to one corner. An interesting mortar and pestle made of a seashell sat near the back of the shelf, and he wondered if it was merely for decoration. There were dragonflies and butterflies adorning nearly everything that didn't move, and, though his initial reaction to that was one of disdain, the things grew on him slowly.

Autumn settled onto the sofa, distracting him from his perusal of the room. She leaned forward to pick up her glass and lifted it in a silent toast. After a brief hesitation, he let his glass clink against hers, and wondered idly what he was drinking to. It hardly mattered, though, as the smooth, sweet red wine washed over his tongue, and he sighed contentedly.

"I'm glad you came," Autumn said softly. "And I'm glad you decided to stay for dinner."

Severus laughed lightly. "I wasn't under the impression that I had much choice in the matter," he said dryly, taking another sip of the wine. "You're very nearly as persuasive as Aislinn was."

Autumn laughed softly. "You obviously don't know me yet," she commented, lifting her own glass to her lips. "Else you'd know that I'm much more persuasive than she ever was."

Severus chuckled softly. "And modest."

Tucking her feet underneath her, Autumn turned slightly. "Why should I pretend to be modest about something when I know it's a strength of mine? I taught Aislinn to be persuasive. She didn't have it in her to try and convince people to do things they didn't want to do. Entirely too easy-going."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked mildly.

"Really. She was a veritable doormat when I met her. So desperate for someone to like her that she wouldn't assert her preference for a variety of tea." Autumn swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully. "She always wanted whatever made her easy to get along with."

"I guess I never knew that side of her," he commented neutrally, though his mind was spinning, trying desperately to remember if she was that easy-going as a student. He couldn't make the judgement one way or the other. "How long did you know her?"

"Mmm. Let's see. I was still working on my Masters…" She frowned at her wine and sipped again. "Maybe eight years?"

"Eight years? How old are you?" The question was out of his mouth before he realized it had entered his mind.

Autumn looked at him, her mouth twitching with humor, and she laughed. "How old do you think I am?"

He studied her for a moment. He'd initially thought she was younger than Aislinn, but he supposed that might be because of her height. Or lack thereof. It was difficult to look past her hair and clothing, but as he did, he noticed that there was a depth to her eyes that he did not associate with the bright-eyed optimism of youth. As for how old, though… "I have no idea," he conceded.

"Thirty-three," she replied. "Shocking, huh?"

He studied her again. Hell, she was closer to _his_ age than she was to Aislinn's. "Quite," he replied, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment. She really was very pretty. He hadn't realized that before.

"How long did you know her?" she asked.

Severus hesitated for a moment, briefly considering whether or not to admit that he'd known her when she was a child. It would be easy enough to say he'd met her in September for the first time, and even if it wasn't quite true, it would be close enough. And it would mean he could avoid the questions it would raise to admit how long he _had_ known her. "Fifteen years," he replied, finally deciding on the full truth.

"Really?" It was Autumn's turn to be surprised "She really was just a child then, wasn't she?"

Severus nodded. "Eleven, I'd guess."

Autumn regarded him scrutinizingly for a moment. "How old are you?" she asked, frowning.

He laughed humorlessly. "Older than you."

"Hrm," she mused softly. "How does a man know a girl who is half his age?" she asked, sipping her wine again.

"She was one of my students," he offered. "One of the first ones I saw from their first day of school until graduation."

Autumn nodded. "And then she went back to teach there and you met the adult version. Interesting."

Frowning over the top of his wine glass, Severus watched her carefully. "That was not a logical conclusion," he commented.

"Aislinn told me she was teaching, and she told me you also taught there. Or, told me that there was another teacher there that she fancied."

His heart suddenly clenched. Of course, he'd known on some level that it was true, that Aislinn fancied him, but to hear it from someone else, and now, it was enough to make his breath catch. He tried to steady his hands, but they shook.

"You fancied her too, then," Autumn said softly, setting her wine aside. She took his glass as well, and placed it on the table beside hers, then took his hands between hers. "She spoke well of you," Autumn offered. "She thought a great deal of you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words on his tongue. Closing his mouth again, and swallowing hard, he didn't protest as she moved closer, leaning against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, taking comfort in her warmth and softness. She snaked an arm around his waist, and held him.

"You're hurting," she observed. "I suppose it was difficult for you, wasn't it? You hadn't the luxury of all those months to get used to it."

He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to keep his emotions under control. "It was a shock," he murmured. "I didn't know where she was. I didn't know anything was wrong. I should have… been with her," he whispered.

Autumn reached a hand up, laying it against his neck. "It wouldn't have changed anything," she said softly. "Only made it more difficult, for the both of you."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I would have stayed with her the entire time… I would have…"

"You would have made it more difficult for her to let go," Autumn said firmly. "She held on as long as she did for her friends. Until we'd all released her. She needed to be told it was all right to give in," she whispered. "She didn't need another reason to cling to life."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, he stiffened. "How can you say that?" he hissed. "What kind of person says a friend didn't need another reason to live?" He tried to disentangle himself from her, and she moved back to the other side of the sofa, a sad smile on her lips.

"She was in pain, Severus," Autumn said softly. "And every day she lived was one more day of suffering. They could have prolonged her life for another six months, maybe a year, had she gone into the hospital. And there was always that slim, seductive chance of survival. Very low, but a chance." Her eyes were shining behind a curtain of unshed tears. "Aislinn didn't want to live the remainder of her life in a hospital," she whispered. "She said she would rather live two weeks surrounded by those who loved her than two years hooked up to machines and tubes."

Severus closed his eyes, trying to block out what he was being told. _He_ loved her. Why hadn't she wanted _him_ there? _Why?_

"And it took us so long to let go," Autumn continued. "I didn't want to let go. I wanted her to keep fighting, because… because I'm selfish, and I wanted her here. I wanted it to be like it always was." Her voice was cracking now, wavering with emotion, and Severus was fighting off waves of emotion himself. "But that was what she needed, in the end. I was the last one to let go."

"She could still be alive," he whispered hoarsely.

"She would be miserable," Autumn replied firmly, and he felt hands on his again. When he opened his eyes, he saw that tears were streaming freely down Autumn's face. "She was _suffering_, and she would have continued to suffer. She needed us to tell her that it was all right; that she didn't have to be strong anymore. That we loved her, and she could stop fighting." There was a lump in Severus' throat, and he couldn't swallow around it, and couldn't speak around it. "She was afraid you wouldn't let her go," Autumn whispered, and it was like a knife driven into his heart. "She was afraid she couldn't let you go."

She placed her hands on his face, and, before he knew what was happening, she was drawing his head to her lap, cradling him against her. They shifted, and she was holding him, caressing his face and shoulders, and he stared blankly at the wine glasses on the table. There were no tears on his face, and none in his eyes, though he didn't know why. He felt like he should be sobbing again, but he was too miserable, hurting too deeply even to cry.


	17. Dinner Plans

Dawn was just beginning to etch a faint pink light on the eastern horizon when Severus finally Apparated back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. He appeared in the kitchen, intending to slip upstairs like a schoolboy out past curfew, hoping that Lupin wouldn't realize he'd been out all night. No such luck.

"You're looking like the cat who ate the canary," came a dry voice, and Severus winced as he turned slowly towards the table, facing Lupin. "Remarkably satisfied, and exceptionally guilty. Do you want tea? There's water on the stove."

For a moment, Severus considered telling Lupin to mind his own bloody business, but he really didn't want to destroy the tenuous truce they'd reached once again. After all, it was only Thursday, and he still had three days before he was supposed to even consider returning to Hogwarts. Oddly, he didn't particularly want to go back just now. Walking over to the cupboard, he took a teacup, then added a few leaves to the bottom of it. He filled it with the steaming water and returned to the table, seating himself across from Lupin. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," he replied to the earlier accusations. He needed an excuse, and thought quickly. _I was just upstairs…_

Lupin snorted and shook his head. "I suppose next you're going to tell me that you were in your room all night and just Apparated downstairs like a seventeen year old who just passed his tests?"

Severus scowled into his teacup. That sounded better in his head than it did coming from Lupin's mouth. "What does it matter to you?" he asked, finally deciding to take the defensive route.

"Nothing, normally, but when I have to lie to someone I respect greatly to cover for you…"

"Lie?" Severus frowned. "Who…?"

"Dumbledore was looking for you last night. Just a little after eleven, he Firecalled."

"Oh." He stirred his tea, feeling an odd pang of guilt. "Why did you bother lying? I'm a grown man…"

"And he would have given me that disappointed, reproachful look that would ask why I didn't know where you were. No, Severus, I know you're a big boy who can take care of himself. That's why I lied. I told him you went to bed early. But you might want to let him know that you're all right."

Severus sighed. "I suppose."

Lupin smiled sympathetically. "It's bittersweet to have people caring about you, isn't it?"

"That's the truth," Severus muttered, taking a sip of his tea.

"So, where were you, anyway?"

"Do you really think that's any of your business?" Severus stared pointedly over his teacup at the other wizard.

For a moment, Remus looked as though he were going to retort something equally rude, but he chuckled. "Of course not," he conceded. "But if I can't have a life of adventure and merriment, at least I should be allowed to quiz my friends and live vicariously through them."

Severus snorted softly. "I told you yesterday—I went to visit one of Aislinn's friends."

"Ah, yes. She had something to give you." Severus felt a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he could have almost echoed the next question with Remus. "So what was it?"

Good bloody question. "Er…" he suddenly stood. "I should probably speak with Dumbledore before it gets much later and…"

"It's breakfast time," Remus pointed out, looking entirely too amused suddenly. "And if you Firecall looking like that, he's going to know you haven't been asleep. Now, what did this friend of Aislinn's give you?"

"I really need to change then, don't I? I'm just going to have a shower and…"

"Nope, Severus. Not until you tell me."

Having run out of logical protests, Severus merely scowled, which, to his extreme irritation, only prompted a quivering smile from the werewolf. The kind of smile that meant someone was fighting a laugh.

"Is this friend a woman?" Lupin asked, not quite keeping the humor from his voice. Assuming he was even trying.

"Yes," Severus replied shortly, his scowl intensifying. _Stop asking questions you…_

"Hrm," Lupin mused, a smile playing on his lips. "You went to visit a woman yesterday evening just before six, and you don't return until just before six this morning. You smarmy git!" There was a wide grin on Remus' face, though, that made it difficult for Severus to do more than continue to scowl, even as the other man slapped him on the shoulder.

"You reprobate," Severus muttered under his breath, not really sure if he was talking to himself or Remus. "She's one of Aislinn's _friends_ for fuck's sake, and Aislinn hasn't been dead a week yet." He sank his head into his hands, closing his eyes. _Excellent way to find closure._

"I'm sorry." It was a genuine apology, coupled with a hand on his shoulder, and Severus felt Remus settle into the chair beside him. "I wasn't thinking."

"Neither was I, apparently," Severus replied quietly.

Confusion flitted across Lupin's face. "What…?"

A humorless laugh escaped Severus' mouth with a puff of air. "I can't even deny it," he muttered. "I don't even know how it happened. It _certainly_ wasn't intentional."

For a moment, Lupin faltered. "Was it…"

Severus lifted an eyebrow questioningly. "Good?" he suggested. "Frantic? A bad idea?" He propped his eyes against the heels of his hands. "Yes, to all the above."

Lupin cleared his throat softly. "Ah."

Slowly, Severus turned his head back to the other man. "That wasn't what you were asking."

"No," Lupin admitted. "But it answered my question. I think. At least, I'm going to pretend it did."

"What were you asking?"

Lupin grimaced. "Never mind."

"Lupin…" his voice had taken on the low, warning tone that students recognized and feared. And that even made Lupin take on a guarded look.

"Severus, please. Just forget it."

"Goddamnit, Lupin, I want to know what you were going to ask me!" The longer Remus thwarted the answer, the angrier and more offended Severus became.

After a long pause, Remus said softly, "I was going to ask if it was consensual. You needn't answer that. I'm…"

"Fuck you, Lupin." Severus muttered. _Why does everyone always jump to the worst conclusions about me?_ he wondered as he stalked out of the kitchen and up the stairs, ignoring Lupin's protests. Loud protests.

"Severus, come back here, you imbecile! I said I was sorry."

Severus slammed the door to his bedroom, hard enough to rattle the walls, and it was only through quick reflexes that the mirror on the wall adjacent to the door didn't crash to the floor.

"Look!" Lupin's voice was muffled, but still quite loud and accompanied by the pounding of footsteps taking stairs two at a time. "Fuck it, Severus, I'm tired of fighting with you! Will you please just listen to reason?"

Severus flung his door open again just in time to see Remus reaching it. "Shout a bit louder, why don't you," he hissed, "and see if you can't wake Mrs. Black." For a minute, Lupin stared, then chuckled softly, which only served to further infuriate Severus. "Perhaps you don't care if your presence is known, but I have reason to believe that that portrait is our spy and I for one…"

"You're slipping, Severus," Remus commented casually, folding his arms and leaning against the door.

"What?"

"Bill got rid of it on Sunday afternoon. While you and Ron were playing chess."

Severus' mouth opened, then snapped shut. "Oh."

Remus chuckled softly, and, after a momentary flare of offense over being laughed at, Severus shrugged sheepishly and moved into his room to gather his clothes for the day.

"Shall I leave you to catch up on your sleep? You're probably beat." Remus asked, his voice still sounding amused. Severus scowled as he pulled a pair of neatly folded socks from a drawer.

"Thank you, but I slept quite well last night. Better than I have in months, actually."

From the corner of his eye, Severus could see Remus nodding. "How long have you known this girl?"

"Woman," Severus corrected, without thinking. "I met her Saturday. Now, if we are finished with the twenty questions…"

"Saturday? But you were…"

"I _told_ you, she was one of Aislinn's friends. I met her at the memorial." Severus decided not to reflect on what it said about him that he didn't feel much more than a pinch at his heart after saying her name.

"So last night was the first time you'd actually _spoken_ to her, for any length of time, yes?"

Severus straightened and turned to glower menacingly. "What are you getting at, Lupin?"

The other man had a dopey grin on his face. "Is she a whore?"

Severus' eyes narrowed, and he was considering asking if Lupin didn't think he could get a woman without paying for her, but he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

Lupin laughed suddenly and came, uninvited, into the room and turned a chair around, sitting in it backwards and leaning his chin against the back. "You smarmy git," he was grinning. "Hell, even Sirius couldn't have done that, and _no one_ could get into a girl's knickers faster than he could."

For a moment, Severus could only stare, unsure whether to take offense or consider it a compliment. It chafed to hear such a crass proclamation from anyone, and he disliked being compared to Sirius Black. But if he were going to be compared to Black, it was gratifying to know he'd come out on top for once. "You are a vulgar and boorish cretin," Severus replied after a moment. "I can't believe you said that."

Remus only laughed.

"Go away, Remus. I need a shower, and I _don't_ need an audience."

Still chuckling, Remus obligingly left the room, allowing Severus the privacy to finish gathering his clothes and toiletries and then head to the bathroom.

* * *

"Severus! Are you out of the shower? Dumbledore's here, and he wants to talk to you if you can…"

Severus grimaced. He almost wished that the portrait was still threatening them from downstairs; at least it had put a halt to shouting upstairs. One more swipe with his razor and he rinsed his face, patting it dry, and glanced around. His hair was wet and still uncombed, hanging around his shoulders in limp, tangled locks, and he didn't relish the idea of letting it drip all over his robes, but he wasn't terribly enamored of the idea of going downstairs in nothing but his dressing robe, either. He settled on the dressing robe, though, with a towel still around his neck. After all, it was just Dumbledore.

As he passed Remus on the stares, Severus leveled him a glare that just _dared_ him to say anything about his state of undress. Remus said nothing, though, and merely gestured at the kitchen. "I'm going to grab a shower too, I think," he said casually, and Severus nearly retorted that he didn't give a damn _what_ the other man did. But he stopped, realizing that it was really an assurance from the other wizard that he would have his privacy to discuss whatever he needed with Dumbledore. Severus nodded and continued back downstairs.

Dumbledore was sitting at the table, unwrapping a chocolate. "Ah," he said, looking up as Severus came in. "There you are, my boy."

"Headmaster," Severus replied formally.

"I just wanted to assure myself that you are all right."

Severus sighed. "I'm _fine,_" he insisted. "Really, I am."

"I can see that," Dumbledore replied. "You look better than you have in months. Chocolate?" Severus waved away the offer, watching the headmaster carefully. "I was fairly certain that Remus would have told me if anything were wrong, but I wasn't sure he would tell me if he simply didn't know."

"What are you suggesting, Headmaster?" Severus asked, cautiously pushing aside the thoughts that would give the lie to Remus' cover for him last night.

"Only that Remus is a truly pitiful liar."

In spite of himself, Severus snorted. "I've often thought the same thing," he replied, seating himself. "I hope you realize that he…"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "You are both adults, Severus, and I doubt you asked him to mislead me for you. And you haven't said anything to reveal the lie, so give it no thought. I just wanted to assure myself that you are all right."

"I am," Severus sighed again. He wasn't sure if he found the concern touching or annoying. Or both. Probably both. And it was leaning towards annoying at the moment.

"Good. That is all, then, unless you have something you wish to tell me?"

Severus shook his head. "No, Headmaster. I've been a good boy."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Somehow I doubt that, Severus, but very well. Will you relay a message to Remus, please?"

"Of course."

"We shall meet this evening at 8 to discuss a few matters of business. And Severus, if you do not wish, there is no reason it would be strictly necessary for you to attend, though you are, of course, welcome. I don't wish to infringe on your time, though."

"I'll be there," Severus replied.

Dumbledore nodded. "I felt sure you would be, but I wanted you to know it was your option." He stood, and Severus stood as well. "Oh, and I nearly forgot. These are for you." He reached into his robe and removed a bulging stack of parchment—enough to make Severus' eyes bulge slightly.

"What is this?" he asked, taking them hesitantly.

"I believe they are letters from your students, wishing you a speedy recovery. We are still encouraging the rumor that you are ill."

Severus sank into his chair again, untying the string that bundled the letters together, and he thumbed through them. "But why are they writing?" he asked. "I don't understand."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Children have an innate sense of caring," the headmaster replied, his voice taking on that wizened tone again. "They are born knowing love and compassion; it is the world which teaches them bitterness and hatred. Some of your students have not lost all their compassion yet. A good many, from the looks of things."

Opening one of the letters, Severus felt a surge of emotion that he couldn't explain. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder.

"You left a stack of parchment on the table you were using as a desk in my room. They looked personal, so I did not look at them, but they had students' names on them. Shall I see them delivered?"

Nodding mutely, Severus looked at another of the letters. They were, by and large, variations on the same themes he'd seen two days ago, but it didn't matter what they said. It was the fact that they were here.

"I'll see you this evening, my boy." With a soft roar, the fireplace blazed emerald and Dumbledore stepped into the flames, leaving Severus to stare at his letters. One by one, he opened them, smiling at some, shaking his head at others. He reached one with a familiar but unexceptional handwriting on it, and couldn't help a laugh when he read it. "Castle to D3." That was all it said, but Severus knew who it was from as surely as if it had been signed, and, still chuckling, he gathered the parchments and stopped in the drawing room to move a white castle on the board still standing. He gave the board a considering look before heading back upstairs to finish his morning ablutions and rituals.

* * *

It was just after noon when Severus heard the creak of the stairs, announcing Lupin's venture to the third floor. After only two days, Severus had learned which stair it was that creaked, and how to avoid it, as it had a sound that grated on his nerves, and he could not believe, in any honesty, that Lupin didn't know which stair it was. Which meant that the other wizard used it as a casual announcement that he was coming.

A quick glance at the parchment strewn over his desk was enough to dispel Severus of any hopes of straightening the mess and hiding his activities before Lupin arrived, and for some reason he couldn't quite explain, he didn't feel any particular need to close the door to his room here. Well, if he thought about it, he supposed he could define the reason—it was a very large house and Remus stayed on the first and second floor, by and large, and when he didn't, the creaky stair announced his approach. And there was something comforting about the sounds of the other occupant of the house moving around downstairs. Not, of course, that Severus had suddenly developed any great loathing for solitude, but he did appreciate the reminders that he wasn't entirely alone here.

The footsteps paused as they approached his door, and from the corner of his eye, Severus could see that Remus had stopped short of entering the room, standing back a respectful distance and knocking on the doorframe.

"Yes?" Severus asked, looking up in earnest this time, laying down his quill. The activity he didn't particularly want Remus to see him engaged in was the answering of those letters from his students, and he hoped Lupin would assume he was simply not following orders and was working on lessons or marking papers or some such.

"The post came," Remus said, "and you have a letter."

"A letter?" Severus frowned momentarily at his desk and prayed that no one had had the cruelty to send any more of these letters from the students by owl post. Getting them in a bundle was marginally exhilarating, but he could see himself becoming exceptionally irritated exceptionally quickly if he was subjected to owls peppering him as often as it would take to deliver those letters one at a time.

Remus moved into the room, holding out a single piece of paper. Not parchment, paper. Sighing with relief, Severus took it and opened it, knowing who it was from before he read it.

Severus,

I think I'm getting the hang of this owl thing. I feel like such a ditz. You came all the way over here and I didn't even give you your gift. I swear that it wasn't a ploy, but perhaps you could return this evening? And perhaps stay for dinner again?

Autumn

He shook his head slightly, and, seeing the curious expression on Lupin's face, waved a hand dismissively. "I've been invited to attempt retrieving… whatever it is she has for me… again. And to join her for dinner." He reached for his quill and a piece of parchment, hastily penning a reply.

Autumn,

Will six be acceptable again? Please let me know if it won't, otherwise I will see you then.

Severus

"Are you going to stay for dinner with her again?" Lupin asked in what was obviously supposed to pass for a casual tone but failed miserably.

"Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to know whether to expect you to be here or not. You know, so I'll know how much to cook." Lupin had moved away to the window and was looking out onto the street below.

"You cook?" Severus asked doubtfully, and Remus chuckled.

"I'm a 37-year-old bachelor who hasn't the luxury of living in a castle full of house elves who see to the meals. I cook after a fashion, yes."

"Hrm." Severus picked up his quill again and added a few lines to the parchment.

PS- I don't believe I will be joining you for dinner tonight. I'm actually visiting a friend, and it would be unconscionable to abandon him a second evening in a row when he has been so hospitable. My regrets on that point, as I'm sure our dinner will be much less palatable than yours, if last night's dish was any indication.

SS

"I don't know," Severus replied aloud, fanning the page to encourage the ink to dry before he folded the parchment and placed a glob of wax on it. "I don't want to be tempted to miss the meeting tonight," he commented. "Have you ever tried any of that Muggle take-out phenomena?"

"What?" Lupin turned to stare incredulously at him.

Severus shrugged. "I passed a small restaurant in my wanderings. Chinese take out. Have you ever sampled anything like that?"

"No," Remus said slowly. "Have you?"

Severus snorted. "Hardly my choice in cuisine. But I have to admit that the smell was tantalizing. I thought I might try that before I went back to Hogwarts."

"Oh."

"I could bring some back when I go to retrieve this… whatever it is," he offered.

Lupin nodded. "Thank you," he said softly, and Severus had a feeling it had nothing to do with the offer to bring back food. Or, perhaps more accurately, nothing directly to do with it.

"You're welcome."

"Do you want me to post that for you?" Lupin gestured at the desk. Severus picked up the letter to Autumn, and studied it for a minute, then nodded.

"Please."

Without a word about the rest of the parchment on the desk, Lupin took the proffered letter and slipped back downstairs, creaking the stair as he went.

A couple of hours later, another owl returned, dropping a reply in Severus' hands. He shook his head slightly, and then edged upstairs quietly, knocking on the open door to the room Remus used for his office. Why he needed an office, Severus couldn't even begin to guess, but he wisely hadn't mentioned that bit of logic.

Remus looked up. "Ah, come in, Severus."

A little awkwardly, Severus stepped into the room, thinking, not for the first time, that he could find worse people to model himself after if he wanted to be a bit more gracious. If. "We've… ah… been invited to dinner," he said without preamble.

"By whom?"

"Autumn." At the confused look Remus shot him, Severus expanded, "Friend of Aislinn."

"Oh, I didn't realize she had a name," Remus joked. Severus' expression didn't change.

"I need to send her a reply," he said pointedly. "If we're going to accept, we need to be there at six."

"What time is it now?"

"Half past three."

For a long moment, Remus was quiet, but when he did speak, it was in a low tone. "If you want to go to dinner with her, and don't want me there, I'll understand." And, Severus thought that the other man would, probably. He shook his head, though.

"She invited us both," he replied.

"But if you…"

"Damnit, Lupin, just a yes or no. Do you want to go into London and have dinner with a friend of mine?"

Lupin stared for a minute, then his mouth quirked into a grin. "Is she a good cook?"

Severus chuckled. "If the meal I had last night is any indication, I'd say she is an exceptionally good cook. Does that mean yes?" Remus nodded. "Good. Be ready in two hours." Severus turned on his heel, ready to stalk back downstairs, but paused. "Muggle London," he said suddenly. "Wasn't sure if I'd made that clear."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to dress appropriately."

Severus was halfway to the stairs before he paused, and backtracked his steps. "Actually, be ready in one hour. I want to make a stop in Diagon Alley before we go." Without waiting for a response, Severus headed back to his own room to pen a reply, then sent the owl on his way with the response in his beak.


	18. Brandysoaked Legilimency

"This was a bad idea," Severus muttered under his breath as he and Lupin stood at the entrance to Diagon Alley. "A very bad idea."

Remus nodded mutely beside him. "Do you really need me to accompany you?" he asked softly. "I can just wait in the Leaky Cauldron and..."Severus stepped neatly behind the wall, watching until a cloaked figure was gone. "Who was that?" Lupin asked, frowning.

"Ludo Bagman," Severus replied softly.

"And why are you hiding from him?"

Snape grimaced inwardly. Remus didn't know that he suspected Bagman and was keeping an extraordinarily close watch on him, which was as it had to be, though it made explanations more difficult and pricked unpleasantly at his conscience as the lie rolled easily off his tongue. "Because I don't trust him to not open his big, gossiping mouth to everyone in the Ministry about who he saw where and with whom," he replied succinctly. "And there are those in the Ministry who would find it suspicious to hear that you and I were strolling through Diagon Alley together. Alone." It was one thing to allow Voldemort to hear of his being seen with Dumbledore, but something else entirely to be seen with a known werewolf. He cursed softly as Walden Macnair walked briskly past, his eyes landing on Lupin with a sneer. Snape put his back to Macnair and hissed at Lupin, "Smile and nod like we're just talking. And do _not_ look at him."

Lupin smiled and nodded. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, his smile never wavering.

"I'm attempting to not be tortured at the next summons, which is precisely what will happen if word gets back to the Dark Lord that I was seen fraternizing with a werewolf who is known to be on Dumbledore's side," Snape replied in another hissed whisper.

"We have to get out of here. Why are we here again?"

Snape scowled. "I was going to buy a bottle of cognac," he muttered. "As a gift for our hostess."

"Can't we do that in London?"

"Do you know where to buy cognac in London?"

"No."

"Neither do I." Severus stepped back into the shadows and beckoned Lupin to come closer. "Go to Middilunkles," he murmured, reaching into his pocket. "Tell Amalie that you want a bottle of Courvosier X.O.," he said softly, placing a stack of galleons in Lupin's hand. "And if you have more than one of these left over, don't buy it, because it isn't the right one. Courvosier X.O. Repeat it."

"Courvosier X.O. Don't you think you should be the one..."

"I'm going to find out what is going on," Severus murmured. "There are too many Death Eaters here for it to be a coincidence." He peered down the street, then frowned. "Courvosier," he repeated once more. "Don't forget that. And then wait in the Leaky Cauldron for me. After I walk through, I'll meet you at a bus stop two blocks east down the street."

Remus nodded, looking like he would rather take on the Death Eaters than try to buy cognac, but there was little room for argument. "Be careful," he whispered, and when Snape looked at him, Remus forced a grin. "Dumbledore'll have my hide if anything happens to you."

"Just go," Snape muttered, giving him a little shove. "Courvosier XO!"

He watched as Remus disappeared into the crowd, momentarily cursing himself for sending such a cretin to buy cognac, but he put the thought from his mind quickly; he hadn't the time for worrying over trifles. _I should have told him to pick up a box of truffles as well,_ he thought distantly as he ordered his mind. Slowly, he emerged into the alley, pulling the ash-covered hood of his travelling cloak up over his head, making sure his face was well hidden and once again cursing his nose. _Why_ couldn't his distinguishing characteristic be something less prominent on his face? Why couldn't it be something easier to conceal?

He stepped into the street, his heart pounding, blood racing. All his senses were excited, and everything he saw or heard he filed into the back of his memory, hoping he would be able to find a few quiet moments to think on it all before it flitted away from him. That was always a challenge in these information gathering missions, impromptu or otherwise—it was a race between his rational mind which sought to remember and his emotional mind which sought to forget.

Winding a path through the crowds, he made his way to Knockturn Alley, two dozen steps behind a figure that he was certain belonged to Lucius Malfoy. He watched as they gathered, three, then four, then another two, all crowding in a tight knot in a side alley. Snape interested himself across the street, at a safe distance, and kept his eyes on the startlingly blue eyes of a young man who was facing him.

"Legilimens," he murmured, and reached carefully into that mind, sifting through memories. Malfoy was praising him for a job well done; Macnair was murmuring that they could use more sharp minds on a project they were working on; Rookwood was casually entertaining a conversation about the admissions standards of Hogwarts. _A name,_ Severus thought blindly, _I need a name._ It came to him suddenly. Zachariah Dilinson. He filed the name away quickly, and set to seeing and hearing through the young man's eyes and ears.

"...ridiculous tasks. What game is he playing at?"

"Hush, Malfoy, there is too much at stake. We cannot fight him now, but our number is growing. It isn't to be war, this time, but a _coup d'etat_, and for that we need support, not fear. And we won't accomplish anything by seeing ourselves killed. What about Crabbe and Goyle?"

Lucius shook his head disgustedly. "Thugs are useful, but their loyalty will be to whomever can strike fear into their thick heads. And that, at the moment, is the Dark Lord. They will be useful later on, though."

"But for now they are enemies," Macnair said firmly. "It will be good if we preserve them, but they are expendable, when it comes down to it."

"What of the Lestranges?"

"Certainly not. Faithful servants of the Dark Lord. They're more insane than anything, and utterly useless in any real bids for power. As is that miserable little toad, Pettigrew."

"And Snape?"

Snape's breath caught in his throat, and he felt his eyes skimming the gathering. Dillinson's eyes scanning the gathering. Everyone was looking in the same direction, so Dilinson did too. To Malfoy.

"He would certainly be an asset to us," Malfoy said softly. "But I am not sure how to gain his loyalty."

"Do you think he is loyal only to the Dark Lord?"

Malfoy snorted. "I think he is loyal to himself, and he will be on whichever side he stands to gain the most from."

A fair assessment, if he'd ever heard one, though Snape doubted that Malfoy understood what he gained from Dumbledore and the Order. His mind drifted momentarily back to the bottle of cognac he hoped Lupin had purchased by now.

"Then you think his loyalty can be bought?" Macnair asked.

"Not with money," Malfoy replied, shaking his head. "Nor with power, I think. There is something else that drives him, though I haven't quite worked out what it is. It looks like power at first, and perhaps there is a thirst for power there, but there is something more important to him, and if we can tap into that..."

Snape shuddered involuntarily and made a mental note to not reveal anything to Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy, though thoroughly evil, was a seductively powerful man, and he held it within his power to offer someone anything they wanted, and to give it to them. Malfoy's objectives were clear—_he_ wanted power, and he knew that power came in three forms: loyalty, money and reputation. Snape had been lured into the Dark Lord's camp by those whispered promises, and he knew that he was, in all honesty, no less susceptible to that lure now than he was twenty years ago. But, armed with knowledge, perhaps he could avoid being put in that situation.

"And Percy?"

Snape's mind honed in on the name, and he found his eyes on Malfoy again. Malfoy was smiling. "We don't have him yet," Lucius said softly, "but I am confident that we will. He merely needs to see the benefits of playing nicely with us, and he will convince himself. Percy Weasley wants the power and distinction that his father never had, and I think he will be open to improving himself."

There was a twitch in Dillinson's mind, a faint hiccup of sorts, but it was enough to make Snape realize that his presence in the young wizard's mind was not entirely unnoticed by the host. He retreated hastily, though carefully, and spent a moment more pretending to browse, then bought the first thing he put his hand on, not even paying attention to what it was. Clutching his new acquisition in one hand, he slipped back out of Knockturn Alley, tucking the package into his pocket, and wound his way back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Lupin was sitting at one of the tables with a butterbeer, and a brown package. _I sure as hell hope you got the right one,_ he thought sourly as he passed quickly through the tavern.

"Ah, Professor Snape, wouldn't you care for a drink?"

"Not today, Tom," he replied softly, his cloak billowing behind him as he stepped into the street. A clock was chiming a quarter till six, which meant that he and Lupin had to hurry if they were to arrive at Autumn's by six. He ducked into another side alley, quickly shedding himself of his robe and cloak, and shrinking them so they would fit in his pocket, then set a brisk pace to the bus stop. He was leaning against the shelter when Lupin came strolling along, a spring in his step, the package clutched in one hand.

"Well?" Severus asked as the other man drew near.

"Well what?"

"Open the bag! I don't trust you enough to believe you got... ah. You did." A slow smile curved over Severus' lips. "Excellent." He slipped the bottle back into the bag.

"You do realize that that bottle cost more than I've paid in rent at some places."

Severus snorted softly. "Then you must have lived in some true rat holes, Remus. Come on. We're a bit behind schedule." He drew his way through the streets, and finally, led Lupin to the building that housed Autumn's flat. Unconsciously straightening his clothes, Severus reached up and knocked on the door. After a moment, it opened, revealing the petite woman, who was once again barefoot, this time clad in a black skirt that brushed the tops of her knees and a red blouse that was unbuttoned almost low enough to be indecent.

"Severus!" she laughed, standing on her toes to throw her arms around his neck. "I was starting to worry! You're almost late." She winked at him, and then stepped back. "And this is your friend?" she asked, offering her hand to Lupin.

He took her hand and bent over it. "Remus Lupin," he introduced himself, lifting her hand to his lips. "A pleasure, Miss...?"

"Autumn," she said, and once again, Severus was left to wonder if she had a last name. Autumn ushered them inside, and Remus was shaking his head, which led Severus to wonder if he was taking his turn at marveling over the way such a small woman so thoroughly commanded them.

"We brought something for after dinner," Severus offered, then grimaced. "And I just remembered that I should have had you pick up some glasses as well," he said to Remus. "Do you have glasses suitable for cognac?" he asked Autumn.

She paused for a moment, frowning. "Brandy sniffers?" she asked.

"That will do," Severus replied. Not perfect, but they'd do.

"Did you bring cognac?"

With a slight smile, he produced the package, offering it to her, and she opened it, a slow smile spreading across her face. "Courvosier," she murmured, her finger sliding down the label. She whistled softly. "You have excellent taste," she said, her eyes sparkling, and Severus' heart leapt into his throat.

"Autumn, are you ready for me to add this... Oh! Hello."

Autumn turned around and her smile broadened. "Ah, yes. Severus, Remus, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine, Willow. Willow, this is Severus; he's the one I was telling you about, and his friend Remus."

Severus offered a hand to Willow, taking in her appearance slowly. It was... unusual, to say the least. Willow was tall and... well... willowy, with a certain grace about her that was mesmerizing. Her hair, which hung down her back like a curtain of silk, was red, which Severus was certain _was_ her natural color, something which struck him as immediately odd, given that every other woman he'd met who was a friend of Aislinn's seemed to have chosen her own hair color. Willow's eyes were green, but a very natural shade of green, none of the too-brilliant emerald hues that spoke of cosmetic enhancements. Her eyes were the color of ferns in a shadowy forest. She had milky skin, and a faint smattering of freckles that were hardly noticeable, and high cheekbones. As she placed her hand in his, she arched a slender, delicately arched brow. "Yes, Autumn," she murmured, "I can see what you mean." The way she looked at him, her eyes on his, was almost enough to make him squirm, and, instinctively, he shut his mind off to her, even though logic told him that she would never know the difference.

There was a faint flicker across her face that whispered that she might. Severus lifted her fingers to his lips. "Enchanted," he whispered softly, and the stray thought that the assertion might be true flitted across his mind.

Slowly, she placed her fingers under his chin, and he found his face turned, so she could study his profile. "Intriguing," she murmured, then shook her head firmly, turning away. "But, no, I don't believe you were right. I sense no psychic aura." She turned to Lupin and reached for his hand, and, watching her from the side as he was, Severus could see her flicker of hesitation more clearly. There was definitely something about her. She was no witch, and yet... he would almost swear that she was. If a witch could have no magical abilities. Very intriguing indeed.

As suddenly as the feeling had descended, though, it evaporated, and Willow was turning to Autumn again. "Do you want me to add the water yet?"

Autumn nodded. "Please, and then I'll finish up." Willow stepped gracefully from the room, and Severus' eyes lingered on the kitchen door for a moment before turning to look sheepishly at Autumn.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I don't know what's come over me."

Autumn merely laughed. "She's beautiful, isn't she?" she asked, winking conspiratorially. "Come on, both of you. Have a seat in here in the living room... dinner should be ready in about fifteen minutes."

Severus watched as Autumn disappeared into the kitchen again, still musing over what had just happened, when Remus spoke. "They're Muggle witches, aren't they?"

For a moment, Severus could only stare. "Muggle witches?" he asked in a whisper. "What did you drink while you were waiting for me?"

Remus laughed softly. "You never studied the Muggles at all, did you?"

Severus shook his head. "Never saw the need."

"Well, some of them dabble in a type of magic. Dumbledore says it's powerful in its own right, though not as conscious as ours. Herbs and stones and the energies of the earth. Very natural."

Severus shook his head slightly, as though trying to dislodge an image. "What are you talking about?"

"Only that I think Willow is more than a mere Muggle."

"I think you're right," Severus agreed. "And I wonder if that's her real name."

"If what is whose real name?" The woman in question appeared so suddenly that Severus would have sworn she'd Apparated.

Severus grimaced slightly. "Yours," he replied. "It seems like everyone I've met so far has,,,"

"Chosen a new name for herself?" Willow finished for him. "Yes, many do. Willow is my 'real' name, though. The one my mother chose for me when I was born. She was a woman of unusual clarity of sight."

Severus carefully avoided looking at Remus. That was one bit of rot that he'd always think was rot—that a name could be 'imprisoning', as Aislinn had put it. "Very fortunate."

"Regardless, dinner is ready. Come." Severus found himself standing without another word from Willow, which led him to wonder if there was any end to the odd compulsion to do what these women said. He'd thought Aislinn was persuasive, but Autumn had taught him differently. And Willow made Autumn seem a veritable doormat. Surely there was no one more 'persuasive' than she; if there was, Severus didn't think he wanted to meet her.

Dinner, it turned out, was an intimate affair, with the four of them seated around a small round table. Autumn had made a pasta dish that was absolutely wonderful, and Severus could find no reason to complain about the wine selection: crisp, but light Sauvignon Blanc. It was refreshing to find someone who shared his taste and love for a good wine. They made small talk, mostly, full of miniature conversations; the general things people talk about when they don't know what to say.

"So, do you teach at the same school Severus does?" Autumn asked Remus, and Severus found a sudden interest in a broccoli floret on his plate, silently begging Lupin not to go too deeply into that subject.

"I did briefly," Remus replied, and if his voice was a bit tight, it was unlikely that either of the women heard it, "but not for a couple of years. And what do you do?"

_Good question!_ Severus thought blandly, suddenly looking up. He'd never live it down if Remus found out he hadn't bothered to ask that himself.

"Right now I work at a coffee shop," Autumn replied, and that was enough to make Severus blink. She'd said she had a university degree, so what was she doing at a coffee shop?

Willow suddenly chuckled, a low, melodious sound that filled the room, and once again, Severus had the distinct impression that she wasn't amused at anything that was being spoken aloud. It was unsettling, and he once again closed off memories and thoughts.

An hour later, Autumn shooed them all into the living room again, gathering plates as they left the table, and a few moments later, joined them with four brandy sniffers and the bottle of cognac. Opening the bottle, she splashed a measure into each of the glasses, handing them to the others. Severus let his glass settle in his palm.

"And what is this?" Willow asked suddenly.

"Cognac," Autumn replied, seating herself on the arm of the oversized chair Severus was sitting in. He moved over and hooked an arm around her waist, and she obligingly sank into the chair beside him. She had a spicy smell to her, like a baker's kitchen, and it was all he could do not to bury his face in her hair and inhale her scent. And she didn't help matters one bit by snuggling into his arm.

Willow lifted the glass to the light, studying the contents carefully. "And what precisely is cognac?" she asked.

Autumn glanced up at Severus and smiled. "She isn't a wine connoisseur."

"I noticed. She's in good company, though. Remus isn't either."

"Hey!" Remus was grinning, despite his indignant outburst, and, with a charm that Severus could barely even comprehend, the werewolf draped an arm around Willow and leaned to whisper something conspiratorially in her ear. Something that made her laugh again, and made Severus squirm slightly.

"What rot is he telling you?" Severus asked Willow, and her green eyes glittered like a dew-covered knoll.

"The amusing kind," she replied evasively. "So, what is cognac?"

"It's a beverage!" Autumn replied, exasperated. "What do you mean, what is it?"

"Is it a wine? Is it like whiskey? How does one drink it?"

It was Severus' turn to chuckle softly, but he was more amused at her genuine inquisitiveness than the actual questions. Disentangling himself from Autumn, he leaned forward and placed his glass on the table, then reached for Willow's hand. "First," he said softly, "you must hold it right. May I?" She submitted to his instruction, and he removed the glass from her hand which had been clutching the stem, then turned her hand over, palm up, and replaced the sniffer. "Keep your palm in contact with the bowl of the glass," he instructed, picking up his own glass and noting that Remus had also corrected the way he was holding it. "Cognac is a distinctive, very fine brandy," he told Willow as he settled back into the chair again, Autumn once more snuggling against him. "And a brandy is a twice-distilled type of wine. So, you drink it more or less like wine, but more slowly, because there are more flavors to savor in a cognac than there are in wine."

"And why does it matter how I hold a glass? Is this like the teacup?" The last question was directed more sharply at Autumn, who giggled and looked up at Severus.

"I've been trying to civilize her for the last three years, and all to no avail."

Severus chuckled warmly, and, without thinking, bent to kiss the top of Autumn's head. "All brandy, not just cognac, is best enjoyed if it is slightly warm. And the heat from your hand will warm it just enough to begin releasing its aromas. That's also why it is important to have the correct glasses; the shape is designed to capture and release the aromas."

Remus shook his head slightly. "I knew there was a reason I drink beer. Beverages shouldn't be complicated."

"I think you and I might have something in common, Remus," Willow said, looking at her cognac, then looking at Lupin. "If I didn't know better, I would swear you were reading my mind."

Severus jumped on that opportunity. "And just how do you know better, Willow?" he asked.

"Pardon me?"

"How do you know Remus is not reading your mind?"

A slow smile curved her lips. "Because I know people, and he hasn't the ability for it as you do," she replied, as neatly as though she were comparing Severus' black hair to Remus' light brown.

"Really," Autumn said suddenly, straightening and craning her neck to look at Severus. "You didn't tell me you were an empath."

"A what?" he asked, frowning.

"An empath. That you can read others' thoughts."

Severus took a sip of his cognac, calming a bit as it washed over his tongue. "Are you not one as well?" he asked, trying to divert the conversation away from him and what he was or wasn't. Too many questions he couldn't answer.

Willow laughed. "No, Autumn is not. Though not from any lack of effort on her part. She finds it horrifying that she cannot learn it, don't you?" Willow took a sip of her cognac too, and then looked at the liquid, holding it up to the light again. "I believe I could get used to this," she commented softly, sipping again.

"How can you tell if someone is an... an empath?" Remus asked, also taking a sip. Severus nearly chuckled at the plainly surprised look on the werewolf's face.

"Ah," Willow said softly, leaning back. "A true empath—one who was born with the ability—can find other true empaths because they share a kinship. It is as easy as telling the color of one's eyes. Now, those who learn are more difficult to place, but..." she shrugged. "It can be done."

Severus sighed softly, shaking his head.

"What is it?" Autumn asked, looking up at him.

"He doesn't believe it," Willow murmured. "And yet he does it. How very interesting."

"I do _not_... do it, whatever 'it' is supposed to be," Severus retorted, though he knew it for a lie and had a feeling that Willow knew it for a lie as well, however carefully he closed off his thoughts to her.

"So, was Aislinn an empath as well?" Lupin was bloody obvious about the diversion, but obvious or not, Severus was grateful for it.

Autumn snorted. "Aislinn had no ability whatsoever. She was brilliant, mind you, but no innate ability."

"Really?" Severus asked mildly, smiling into his cognac.

"Really," Autumn replied adamantly. "She had a cunning mind and an analytical ability that could fool you into thinking she could read your mind, but..."

Willow was laughing again, and Autumn glared at her. Something passed between the two of them, though Severus wasn't sure what.

"I have told you, dear, that Aislinn was more complex than you could even fathom," Willow said authoritatively. "She had abilities that would have made your toenails curl. She didn't _use_ them, but she was certainly in possession of them."

Autumn snorted. "Bullshit. She was perceptive and she saw things that no one else noticed, but there was nothing..."

"I won't deny that. And she had that _uncanny_ ability with astrology. I've never seen anyone who could pick apart a chart as quickly as she could, and that was entirely her intellect, the product of a mind that could make connections faster than most people can read what is plainly written. And she excelled at that, but do not underestimate what she could have done but didn't."

"You've lost me," Remus said suddenly. "What...?"

"Aislinn. Did you know her at all?" Willow asked.

Remus shook his head.

"Pity. She was fascinating. She just absorbed everything she could learn, and she did love those star charts. And it was so easy to dismiss her and say it was just a sharp mind."

"But that _was_ all it was! She never did anything to indicate that she could..."

Willow shrugged gracefully. "Have it your way, Autumn, but I know better. As does Severus, don't you?"

"Er..." he wished they would leave him out of it. He'd been listening with interest, trying to reconcile what was being said with what he knew, and reaching some very interesting conclusions about it all.

"She was one of your students, wasn't she?" Autumn said suddenly. "Was her ability exceptional?"

"She had an exceptional ability to spill things and dip her hair in mixtures," Severus replied wryly. "And to set things on fire. I can't say I had much time to worry about any other abilities she had. She was a walking disaster."

Willow laughed suddenly. "That she was."

A silence descended among them, and stretched on almost interminably as they sat and sipped at their brandy and each lost themselves in their own thoughts. After a moment, Remus broke the silence with a frown. "Is that clock stopped?" he asked.

Severus glanced at the clock in question; it read a quarter past seven.

"Oh!" Autumn suddenly wriggled away from him. "Yes, it is. I meant to start it again." She glanced at a bracelet on her wrist, then moved the hands until it said five past eight, and then started the pendulum swinging.

"Shit!" Remus was on his feet suddenly. "We have to go, Severus. That meeting started five minutes ago!"

Severus cursed under his breath and polished off the last bit of his brandy. "I truly am sorry," he apologized to Autumn, "but we..."

"You can't go until I give you this... just hold on. Two minutes!" Before he could protest, she was bounding out of the room, and he was staring after her. Two minutes passed, then two more, and Lupin shot him an impatient look as Willow disappeared.

"I know," Severus muttered. "But..."

Willow suddenly reappeared, and leaned forward to kiss Remus' cheek, then Severus'. "Just go," she whispered. "I'll smooth it over with Autumn. Can you return tomorrow? For the sole purpose of retrieving your gift?"

Chuckling softly, Severus nodded. "Of course," he replied. "Though if I didn't know better, I'd swear this was a ploy to keep me coming back here."

Willow laughed softly and ushered them to the door. "Go on," she urged gently. "Autumn will understand. Severus," he paused and turned to her. "Be safe. The night is dangerous," she murmured, and he frowned. "Go."


	19. Coming to Order

"What do you think are the chances that we can slip in without anyone noticing?"

Severus looked at Remus and rolled his eyes. "Somewhere between zero and none," he replied, almost casually. "Don't worry about it. I'm almost always late to these things and Dumbledore has yet to kill me." Flippant though the comment was, though, Severus was a bit concerned. True, he was often late, but it was usually because he was detained at a Death Eater summons, not because he was enjoying an after-dinner cognac with a couple of Muggles.

Taking a deep breath, Severus reached for the door, and opened it quietly, ushering Lupin inside. As soon as they were in, he mused that they probably should have donned their robes again, but it was too late, as they'd already been spotted. "Professor Snape! Professor Lupin! Everyone's been worried sick!" Hermione Granger suddenly looked taken aback at what she'd said, and looked almost fearfully at them. Severus ignored her, brushing past her into the kitchen.

"Apologies for our tardiness," he said, taking his place at the table and silently willing Lupin to keep his mouth shut. Dumbledore's look lacked some of its usual patience, but he didn't comment.

There were already more than twenty members assembled, perhaps the first time that Snape had ever seen the entire Order at once. As his eyes skimmed over the faces, he couldn't help but think that perhaps they were stronger than he'd realized. Shacklebolt and McGonagall were unquestionable assets, as was Moody, though it was only begrudgingly that Snape would admit that. Arthur, Bill and Molly… and, he realized with a start, the rest of the Weasleys. Without the red-haired family, there would be no Order, really, though he'd not realized it until just now when half the assembled had that famed red hair. He couldn't even doubt Fred and George's use, and, if Ron was still too young, at least he wasn't prone to going off to get in trouble by himself. Diggle was an idiot, plain and simple, but there was always a need for additional bodies who could fight, and even if he was a simpleton, Diggle could fulfill that roll. As could Mundungus. They were the Crabbe and Goyles of the Order, and Snape couldn't help reliving the words that he'd heard Malfoy say. _Thugs are useful._ Useful, but of questionable loyalty. Or, more accurately, of questionable capacity to determine where their loyalties lay. Arabella Figg, Hestia Jones, Emaline Vance… not one of them was a witch whom Snape knew anything about, but Dumbledore obviously trusted them. Of course, Dumbledore had made mistakes before, as well. Tonks. She fell firmly into the category of unquestionable loyalty but highly questionable skill. A frown touched his lips as he suddenly realized that she wasn't much younger than Aislinn. And, Bill was probably the same age as Aislinn. Gryffindors, the lot of them. He wondered if anyone had told them about her.

"Well, since we're all here now," Dumbledore leveled a harsh look at Snape, and the only redeeming grace was that it was divided between him and Lupin, "we can begin."

As was often the case, the meeting began slowly, with everyone reporting what they knew, which, in most cases, was questionable. Tonks and Bill both reported potential interest from other witches and wizards, and Severus found himself hoping that the meetings being arranged with Dumbledore would show these new people to be worthy; their addition would swell the Order's ranks to nearly forty. Moody had a new conspiracy theory (no surprises there) and Arthur was slowly amassing the proof he would need to bring about an inquiry within the Ministry. The most promising and heartening news came from Shacklebolt—hopefully, there would be three more Aurors in their number soon.

The reporting skipped past the children, and eyes swiveled towards Snape and Lupin.

"Nothing to report," Snape replied, suddenly wishing he'd told Lupin not to mention their adventures in Diagon Alley. Luckily, Lupin echoed his statements, though not without a brief glance in his direction. Such a shoddy liar.

Moody was watching them thoughtfully, and Snape braced himself as the ex-Auror's mouth opened, but he was saved an argument by a voice from the other end of the table.

"We have something to report."

Groaning inwardly, Snape glanced down, and his suspicions were confirmed. It was Hermione Granger, who seemed to be the one of the children who was least afraid to speak up in the presence of the adults.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked neutrally, though with a guarded patience that made Snape wish Hermione would sit down. Dumbledore was obviously not in the mood for foolishness.

"We—Harry and Ron and Ginny and I—have been talking, and we think that there are some other students who would help…"

"No." Snape was glad his wasn't the only voice of protest. It had been spoken in such unison that it was hard to pick out who all had spoken, but he thought there were at least four of them, and Molly was one of them.

"Why?" Hermione shot back. "Just because we're young doesn't mean…"

"You are too young to be here!" Molly protested. "I'm not going to be party to more children being put in danger!"

"We're already in danger!" This time it was Harry. "Do you think that Voldemort—" there was a general sense of breaths catching in throats as Harry said that name "—is being so picky? How many Hogwarts students are Death Eaters?"

"None." Snape answered that quite distinctly. "The Death Eaters were all chosen before any of you were born. There are no new ones." At least, none he knew of for sure. Though he wasn't stupid enough to believe that there was no recruiting taking place, but that was neither here nor there. _That's exactly the point, though, isn't it?_

"Well, he has followers! Malfoy and Crabbe and Goyle and…"

"And the Dark Lord is not going to entrust them with anything. They work under the orders of their fathers. Or, more precisely, Draco follows his father's suggestions, often unwittingly I'm sure, and Crabbe and Goyle do what he tells them to do. There are no Death Eaters at Hogwarts save me."

"But they do agree with him," Hermione interjected, "They terrorize the rest of us and…"

"Sit _down_ Miss Granger. This is neither the place nor time for tattling on the school bullies." Snape commanded, and she moved to sit, but then seemed to change her mind.

Dumbledore suddenly held up a hand. "I, for one, would like to hear which students you are considering before we continue to argue the principle of this matter. I am afraid, Severus, that though I agree with you in principle, there is little room for such nobility in times of war."

Hermione sat down then, and she and the others exchanged glances. It was Harry who stood then, and unfolded a bit of parchment from his pocket. "Neville Longbottom," he said, avoiding looking in Snape's direction. "Luna Lovegood. Anthony Goldstein. Lee Jordan… well, he isn't really a student anymore, but…"

"Bring me that list, Harry." Dumbledore said, holding out a hand. After another hesitation in which Harry and the others exchanged glances, Harry edged towards Dumbledore and placed the parchment in his hand. Dumbledore read over it, then read over it again. "These are the students who joined you last year in learning the Defense Against the Dark Arts on your own, correct?"

Harry nodded, looking a bit nervous, then lifted his head defiantly. "And some more who joined this year."

"Why are you continuing that club, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked softly. "Last year, it was… inadvisable but understandable. This year, your Defense teacher, while no expert, is at least competent. Why does this club of yours continue?"

"Not now, Severus," Dumbledore said placatingly, handing the list to McGonagall. She held it so Snape could read it too, and Lupin joined them.

"Longbottom," Snape muttered. "And Luna Lovegood. For pity's sake, could you find more…"  
  
"Severus…" There was a warning tone to Dumbledore's voice. Dumbledore and McGonagall exchanged glances, and something silent passed between them, then Dumbledore looked to Lupin. "What do you think, Remus?"

Lupin grimaced and sat down. "I don't like it," he replied. "I agree that they're too young and too innocent, and there are names on that list that…" he shrugged. "But, at the same time, some of those students have proven themselves already, more than once. You-Know-Who has already made it clear that he doesn't believe the students to be off-limits, so perhaps we do need a more proactive approach."

Snape sneered. "I wouldn't trust half those students to show up for an exam if no one was prodding them every step of the way. I certainly can't say I'd trust them to be useful parts of this assembly, or, worse still, to not blab everything they hear to their classmates."

"They didn't tell about the DA!" Ginny protested suddenly, ignoring the look her mother shot her.

"Before we continue to argue, let us take a vote," Dumbledore suggested. "All those in favor of discussing the possibility of allowing students to join with us?" Six hands at the foot of the table immediately shot up, and, after a brief look, two more. It was hardly surprising that the eight youngest members would entertain such foolishness, but luckily they did not make a majority. After a moment, though, much to his horror, Snape watched as Moody lifted his hand, and then Lupin his. McGonagall and Shacklebolt were next, followed by Hagrid, of all people. Which meant that eleven of the twenty-three were willing to listen to this nonsense. "It is settled, then," Dumbledore said softly, "for I am also willing to listen to the discussion. From _both_ sides. I must note that this was not a vote to allow the students to join us, but merely to spend time discussing it. The decision is still unmade. Mr. Potter, Miss Granger, do you wish to begin by explaining to us how you think we will benefit from the inclusion of students into the Order?"

The two of them looked at each other, then Harry began speaking, cautiously. "Well, sir, we've been practicing. We may not know all the spells yet, but we're working on it, and we're learning, and when the Order needs people, why can't we be as good as anyone else?"

"Besides," Hermione said, sounding decidedly more confident, "since we're all so young, you can train us how you want us trained. And we'd all be terrified of disobeying because…"

"Because you're students," Snape offered. Hermione nodded. "And if it isn't the Headmaster who tells you to do something?"

"We know who we can trust!" Ron said indignantly.

"Do you?" Snape asked softly. "Madame Hooch?"

Silence.

"Professor Flitwick?"

Silence.

"Madame Pomfrey? Professor Vector? Professor Sinastra?"

Silence on all accounts.

"I think I have made my point."

More silence, then Ginny spoke softly. "Are they all supporters of You-Know-Who?" she asked.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "We have no reason to believe that, Ginny. But we also have no reason to believe they aren't. Professor Snape was merely making a point—it is hard to know who we can trust and who we cannot."

Snape sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The world does not divide neatly into good and bad," he said, just barely loud enough to be heard at the other end of the table. "But when you're young, it certainly seems to. I _do_ remember that much."

He felt a hand on his arm, and glanced at McGonagall who was smiling sadly at him.

"But what's the difference between us not knowing who we can trust and no one else knowing?" Ron asked.

"Because, if Professor Flitwick tells you to do something, are you going to argue with him?" Minerva asked pointedly.

Ron's mouth worked soundlessly. Hermione seemed to recognize it as the trick question it was.

"There is too much at stake," Snape pointed out. "Far too much."

"But why are we more likely than anyone else to…"

"Because," Lupin said, surprising Snape, "You are in an atmosphere where you are expected to obey your teachers. But let's move on. I think you've lost that point, Hermione, and continuing to argue will only weaken any other points you might have."

"Harry already made our points," Hermione said quietly. "We can help, and the only reason you won't let us is because we're young."

Snape scrubbed a hand over his face. "Look," he said softly, "there is so much at stake here. Your courage is admirable, but… one slip. One little slip, and it puts _lives_ in danger. Now, I will admit that I have my reservations about you six, but the Headmaster was right—those are resignations born of principle. I've seen you all covering for each other, and I know that you know how to keep secrets from the rest of the world. You may share them with each other, but no one else ever knows. But Longbottom? He forgets where he left the list of passwords to the Gryffindor Common room. I can't tell you how many times I have found that list in my classroom and destroyed it on your behalf. Luna? She's believe the world was flat if someone told her that with a straight face. Some of these names…" he picked up the list again. "Lee Jordan, yes, I could see that. There is no one else on this list I think I could trust."

It was an exceptionally long speech for Snape, and it seemed to make an impression on everyone, including the students. Harry still protested, though. "You could trust them," he insisted. "You could trust them with…"

"My life?" Snape asked softly. "The lives of everyone else here?"

Hermione looked up suddenly, as though understanding were dawning in her eyes. "It's too dangerous," she said softly.

"Hermione!" That was a chorus from Ron and Harry, and they looked at her as though she were a traitor. She shook her head firmly, though.

"Plausible deniability," she said softly.

"What's that?" Ginny asked.

"If someone, like Neville, were to be tortured, could he resist telling what he knew?" Ginny looked like she wanted to protest, but seemed miserable enough to know she couldn't. "All it would take would be for him to stick up for Professor Snape one time when someone was complaining about Potions… and the whole school would know…"

Very good, Snape thought appreciatively.

"But we don't…"

"But we're not Neville. Or what about Michael Corner? If you break up with him, what's he going to do? Or take Cho. We thought we could trust her, but she told Merietta and Merietta told Umbridge and…"

Hermione trailed off, looking miserable, as did Ron, Harry and Ginny.

"Professor Snape is right. It was a lousy idea."

Snape grimaced. "It wasn't lousy," he said softly, standing. He walked to the end of the table and crouched in front of them. "Ideas are never lousy. Just ill-advised sometimes, or not entirely thought out. That's why we bring them up here before acting on them."

Lupin had joined him and took Hermione's hand. "You keep those ideas coming," he whispered. "We've all had ideas shot down here."

Hermione looked like she might cry, and that was one thing Snape didn't think he could stand. He turned away and abruptly returned to his seat, still thinking.

"Perhaps we should take a small break," McGonagall suggested. "Or do we need to vote on this?" There was a general murmur of negation, and a shaking of heads, and one by one, the members drifted away. Snape remained seated, mulling over the things that Hermione had said. He was vaguely aware of the whistling of tea kettles as water was brought to a boil, and he barely glanced up when Tonks put a cup in front of him, the liquid sloshing over the side of the cup, and then sat.

"That was very good of you," she said softly.

"What?" Severus asked, mopping up the spilled tea.

"Explaining it like that to Hermione."

Severus shrugged. "I really don't want to discourage her," he said softly. "I just want them to realize that it isn't a game."

"I think they know that." She squeezed his arm, and then moved back to her own seat, leaving him to stir his tea slowly, still thinking. When everyone had returned, and the meeting was called to order again, he was still thinking.

There was more talking, more discussion of something, but it passed him by entirely until he suddenly heard from the other end of the table, "Earth to Severus. Come in please."

His eyes popped up, and he realized to his embarrassment that everyone was looking at him. Including Tonks, who had her fingers curled and held up to her lips, though if it was a joke, it was one he didn't get. Harry and Hermione seemed to, though, which led him to believe it was another Muggle reference. "Sorry," he muttered.

"Dumbledore asked if there was anything else," Lupin said softly.

Snape nodded. "Actually," he came to a decision and put down his spoon, which he just realized he'd still been stirring his tea with. It had to be the best-stirred tea in all creation. "Yes, I think there is. Though I'm not sure it concerns everyone."

"Can you tell me the basics?" Molly asked, standing, "So I can decide if I need to stay or if I can start dinner."

"It's more to do with Hermione's and Harry's suggestion from earlier," he replied. "It's mostly a matter for those of us at Hogwarts."

Molly nodded. "I'll catch up later then. Is everyone staying for dinner?" Several of the members made their excuses, and, by the time all was done, only sixteen were remaining. As the group broke apart, Lupin gestured for the students to join them at the head of the table, and everyone clustered around.

"I've been giving your suggestion some thought," Severus repeated, "and I'm suddenly not so sure I'd recommend dismissing it out of hand. I'm _not_ suggesting bringing the students into the meetings," he said hastily, "but suddenly I'm wondering if there isn't a better way of doing some of what we've been doing."

"What do you mean?" Moody was the only one who wasn't affiliated with Hogwarts who was left around the table; Shacklebolt, Tonks and Bill had all drifted away, their heads together, discussing something.

"The more of us there are, the easier it's going to be for someone to turn," Snape said simply. "When there were only half a dozen of us, it would have been too risky, but there are… what, twenty five now? That's a lot of people to be trusting."

"I'm not sure I'm following you, Severus. What does this have to do with the students?"

"Only this: there are—what?—thirty students on this list," he indicated the parchment, "and though I don't think it's wise to include them in the Order's business, perhaps they should be privy to certain information from within the Order. Perhaps they can function as a separate, but related group. We can have Hermione and Harry and the Weasleys instruct them, pass select information to them, and…"

"To what end?" Moody asked. "I don't like passing information to students."

"Then perhaps they can pass information to us. I don't know. It just seems that there is a need and..." he trailed off, frowning. "Ron was right about one thing—the Dark Lord is recruiting among students. He isn't fool enough to trust them yet, but he is cultivating his next crop of Death Eaters, and students are easy prey."

"So you're suggesting we cultivate our own crop, so to speak?" McGonagall asked. "I don't see any harm in investing in the future."

"And it's more than just cultivating a crop," Severus said softly. "How many students have been lost over the years because they… slipped through the cracks, so to speak? Perhaps that is where this gathering can be of real service."

"I don't understand," Hermione said, frowning. "You want us to take students who would support You-Know-Who and turn them to our side? How do we do that?"

Severus shook his head. "No, Miss Granger. I want you all to befriend students who are lonely and… outcasts. The ones who are at a high risk. There are many of them. Many in my own House. Give them knowledge that there is an alternative for them. The Dark Lord preys on those who don't belong anywhere."

Harry was biting his lip and watching Severus quietly. Severus studiously ignored him.

"You want us to be friends with Slytherins?" Ron asked incredulously. "I can't believe it! They're…" he trailed off at warning looks from the adults present.

"We are not all evil," Snape said firmly. "But all Slytherin students are at high risk. I can tell you which ones are at the highest risk. They are purebloods, though, and their parents often agree with the Dark Lord, whether they are actual supporters or not. For example, there is a First Year named Amber Carlisle."

Dumbledore's eyebrows raised slightly, but Snape went on.

"She asked me if the Sorting Hat ever makes a mistake. She doesn't think she belongs in Slytherin, she thinks most of the Slytherins are 'mean' in her words. But her parents are pushing for her to further solidify a relatively new Pureblood line. She will fall victim if there is no one who can help her stand up to the pressures. And there are Slytherins all over the school who are in the same position."

"I know who Amber is," Hermione said softly. "I helped her in the library a couple of weeks ago."

"So, you think that if these students had more friends… if they had the protection from cliques and bullies that are inherent in schools…" Lupin said, his eyes locked on Severus, "That they would be better able to resist?"

Severus shrugged suddenly. "It was only a suggestion. And included in that suggestion is one to bring new people to the Order in similar groups; groups that are not privy to our council, but who pass information and to whom we pass information through existing members. Members who would be their peers. Tonks and Shacklebolt could be liaisons to other Aurors, for example. Bill and Tonks to other young witches and wizards. Bill to Gringotts and financiers. McGonagall to teachers at Hogwarts—how long have we thought we could trust Flitwick and Pomfrey?" he asked suddenly, "but we don't know, so we don't dare approach them. But if they only know of one member of the order…"

"They have less information to relay on," Minerva said softly, "and it is easy enough to track it."

Moody was nodding slowly. "I can't say it's a bad idea," he finally admitted. "And it gives us increased numbers to work with, without jeopardizing all our identities."

"And it keeps us from splitting this kitchen at the seams," Remus added, with a grin. "It was a little crowded tonight."

Severus snorted. "I can't say I didn't think of that, either."

"I think perhaps you are right. We shall suggest it the next time we meet. Meanwhile, Severus, is there anything more you wish to tell me?"

"Yes," Severus replied. "A fair bit more."

"Then come along."


	20. More in Common Than One Might Think

A/N: There is a scene missing here, and I've been stewing over just what it is for about two days. It might be an entire chapter, or just a few lines. I'm not sure. I know what happened in the interim, but none of it seems to be interested in writing itself. Snape and Dumbledore discussed what Snape saw in Knockturn Alley, Molly tried to force some dinner on Remus and Snape who both declined and were cajoled into admitting that they'd already eaten and then Snape told Harry that they were having another Occlumency lesson. Sounds rather like an entire chapter, doesn't it? I might write it later. But for now, I'm giving up trying to find it all in my brain and moving on with this story that hasn't been updated in a few days.

* * *

"Well, Mr. Potter, have a seat," Severus said, gesturing at the other chair as he settled himself in the one nearest the window. "We can't spend all evening here."

Harry sat slowly, watching him with suspicion etched clearly in his emerald eyes. "But the pensieve…"

"Would be nice to have tonight, but is not here," Severus replied smoothly. Much more smoothly than he felt. He'd known he would have to breach this subject eventually, though he hadn't relished the idea, much less like this, away from the familiar comfort of his office and away from the safety provided by the borrowed pensieve. But, perhaps it was for the best. He was calmer just now than he had been in months. "Have you been practicing clearing your mind?"

"Yes sir," Harry replied, and Severus studied him for a moment, not sure he dared to believe it.

"Well," he murmured, "we'll find out I suppose. Clear your mind. One… two… three… _Legilimens_." He entered the boy's mind, and, though it was not entirely clear, it was rapidly becoming so. Slowly, he forced his way deeper, looking for a stray thought, a fleeting memory, anything to latch onto. Nothing. He probed harder, and nothing still. Cautiously, he opened his own mind and fed a memory of his own into the boy's vulnerable mind, the first day of Potions, with his standard speech. As expected, Harry latched onto the memory, and it gave Severus the key to more memories, and once he had the one, the others branched out quickly. Harry was sitting in Transfiguration. Harry was sitting in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry was facing Quirrell, shocked to hear that it was the stuttering professor who had been trying to kill him.

"Stop," Severus said softly, and Harry cringed.

"I tried, Professor. Really. I just…"

"Silence," Severus replied, holding up a hand. "You did quite well, actually. You did not offer me any memories until I fed one to you, and you will learn to not respond. I only wish you had more time for that trick. For now, though, you did well enough. We need to try something different now. Tell me, Mr. Potter, what do you think would happen if a skilled Legilimens entered your mind and found nothing there?"

Harry was quiet for a moment, then speculated hesitantly, "He'd know I was hiding something?"

"Correct. And, what would that tell him?" Harry frowned in concentration, but was quiet. "Why would you hide something from him, Harry?"

"Because I don't want him to know about it?"

Severus nodded. "And what would you not want him to know about?"

"Lots of things. Who all is in the Order, especially you since you're a spy, how much I know. The prophecy…"

"So, things worth hiding," Severus prompted. "Don't make it more difficult than it is. And, if he knows you have something worth hiding, what is this skilled Legilimens likely to do?"

"Try harder to find out what it is?"

"Precisely," Severus replied briskly, standing, clasping his hands behind his back. "So, logically, what is the best tactic, Mr. Potter?"

"To keep him from knowing that I have anything to hide?"

"Very good. And to do that, you will need an even greater measure of control. You will need the ability to turn his probing away from the thoughts you do not wish him to see, while admitting him access to ones that are harmless."

"And how do I do that?"

"We're going to try this again, Potter, but this time with even more control. Do not close yourself off to me this time; I need a memory from you. _Legilimens,"_ he said smoothly before Harry had a chance to protest. The first suitable memory he found was of his explanation of Occlumency from last winter, and he probed slowly into it, forcing Harry to relive it. "That memory could be dangerous, for all of us," Severus said softly.

Harry was nodding, wide-eyed, but sans the normal distrust and hatred.

"Now, I want you to concentrate on that memory. Make it as real as possible, and then clear your mind of that memory. Just that one memory, Potter, and when I enter your mind again, I want to see other memories. Now, _Legilimens."_ A very young Harry was lying on his stomach in the cupboard under the stairs, playing with a spider. He was at the zoo, talking to a snake. He was sitting in Transfiguration, trying to get the legs off his button.

"Good," he murmured, continuing to sift through the memories and thoughts in Harry's head. Harry was swimming under the lake in the Triwizard Tournament. He was making a face at a mushroom-flavored jellybean. He was sitting with a girl, holding her hand across a table in Hogsmeade. He was kissing the same girl… Severus chuckled as Harry deflected him from that memory. "Very good, Mr. Potter," he commented dryly. Harry was emerging from a trapdoor, but before Severus could see where, he was deflected again. Harry was peering at the Marauder's Map. He was receiving the Map from Fred and George, and that memory disappeared quickly as well.

"Finite," Severus murmured, and placed his wand in his lap. "Good, Mr. Potter. I think you understand the idea behind it. We will need to work on your ability to deflect attention more quickly, but I think that perhaps you will succeed in this after all."

"Can I ask you a question, sir?"

"May," Severus corrected with a sigh. "You _may_ ask me a question."

Harry nodded impatiently. "Will you teach me the Legilimency as well?"

For a moment, Severus was astounded. He would have never dreamed that Potter would ask him to teach him anything, but the request was nearly respectful, and Severus found himself actually considering the request. "Why?" he asked softly after a moment. "What use have you for this skill?" Harry's silence was enough to confirm Severus' suspicions. "Legilimency is no toy, Mr. Potter. It is not a quaint charm. Observe. _Legilimens!_" Without warning, Severus plunged into Harry's mind, forcing his way through memories quickly and harshly, bringing them to the surface and rummaging through them with all the subtlety of a thief ripping apart an office in search of a leaf of parchment.

Harry struggled, physically and mentally against the sudden onslaught, but Severus continued his probing, digging up memories. Harry was sitting in a dark room, looking at pictures of Arabella Figg's cats. He was sitting in the snow, crying. He was standing, frightened and alone at Kings Crossing. He was facing a Dementor. Severus held onto that memory, keeping it near the surface, then discarded it quickly. Harry was staring into a mirror, seeing his parents' reflections. He was curled up on a too-small cot, shaking with a fever in the middle of the night and trying not to make a sound.

Abruptly, Severus exited his mind. "Finite," he hissed, watching Potter as he breathed hard, wrapping his arms around himself. For a long moment, Severus fought the urge to sympathize with the boy, to offer some words of comfort, such as they would be coming from him. Slowly, Harry seemed to gather himself. "Is that what you wish, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked softly. "To rip through someone's mind, with no more care than a dog chewing at the pages of a book?"

Harry had lifted his feet to the edge of the chair and was holding his knees to his chest, staring distrustfully at Severus. "Why did you do it like that?" he asked, then added as an afterthought, "_Sir?_"

Severus let the silence settle between them, lengthening into an awkward pause, then spoke quietly. "Because I have been kind to you, Mr. Potter, whether you wish to believe it or not. Legilimency is a study in subtlety, or it is a ruthless invasion of another's privacy. Learning is always clumsy, and I would not subject anyone to your carelessness without good reason. And believe me, Mr. Potter, what I just did is gentle compared to the fumbling associated with first attempts at Legilimency. So I ask again. Why do you wish to learn?" Harry was silent again. "Whose mind do you wish to try and filet?"

"It would help with the D.A.," Harry said finally. "If I could tell why people want to join. Then I'll know if someone is there because her boyfriend is, or if it's because she really believes in it."

Shaking his head slightly, Severus responded, "Absolutely not. If you wish me to teach you that, it will have to be an order from the Headmaster, and believe me, Mr. Potter, I will fight that order if it comes."

"How did you learn, sir?"

Severus leaned back into his chair, his elbows on the arms, fingers steepled while he considered whether or not to answer that question. Finally, he decided it would hurt nothing. "My mother taught me," he replied softly. "Before I even received my Hogwarts letter."

Harry leaned his head onto his knees. "Can I ask you a question?"

Severus sighed. "You truly are thick-skulled at times, Potter. It's _may_. _May_ I ask you a question. Of course you _can_—you are _able_ to do so, you wish permission."

Harry scowled. "_May_ I ask you a question?"

"You may."

"What was your family like?"

Severus blinked in surprise. "Pardon me?" he asked, not sure he'd heard that right.

"What was you family like? You know, your mum and dad. Were they nice?"

"I hardly see how that is any of your business," Severus replied stiffly. "I think this is enough for one night. You are to practice emptying your mind of single thoughts, and continue to empty it entirely before you go to sleep. Now…" he frowned, suddenly realizing that, not being at the school, he couldn't very well tell Harry to go back to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Harry, damn the boy, seemed to realize that too. "All right. But why don't you want to tell me what your family was like? Sir?"

Severus scowled. "You certainly are brave tonight, Potter."

"You can't give me a detention or take points away here."

For a moment, Severus just stared, then laughed suddenly. "Touché, Mr. Potter," he said, standing and walking slowly to the student's chair. "But I doubt I will lack the opportunity next week," he threatened, leaning over the chair so his nose was only inches from Harry's. Damn it, but that was more intimidating when he was in his office, and in his _robes_ instead of Muggle street clothes.

"Fine. Then I'm already in trouble so I have nothing to lose by asking again."

Glowering, Severus straightened. "You also have nothing to gain. Now, if you will excuse me…" he walked to the door, but he'd barely reached it before Harry was standing.

"That memory I saw before, that was your dad and your mum, right?"

"I am reasonably sure that I told you never to speak of that," Severus said in a soft, dangerous tone, "but if I failed to do so then, allow me to correct the oversight now. _Never_ speak of those things; to anyone, including me." He opened the door and was in the corridor, once again acutely aware that he was considerably less intimidating without the signature swirl of ebon robes.

"Is it really that bad?" Potter asked, pursuing him down the stairs. Severus quickened his pace, trying to outdistance the boy, but failing as he refused to run and Harry seemed to have no such compunctions. "Please, professor, I just want to…"

"Potter..." he said in a warning tone as he sat at the table again, not even looking up at the boy, and for his efforts (and the effort of keeping his temper in check was great), Severus received only sharp looks from Lupin, the two elder Weasleys, and McGonagall.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Here, Severus, have some cake," Molly said suddenly, placing a thick wedge of chocolate cake in front of him. Since she'd worked out that he liked chocolate cake, hardly a day went by that she didn't bake a fresh one, and encourage him to gorge himself on it.

"Because it is none of your affair," he replied tightly, then nodded to Molly. "Thank you."

"What would it hurt? Are you afraid we might start to think of you as human? Don't worry, there's no danger in that!" Harry turned on his heel and stomped out of the kitchen, leaving everyone to gape disbelievingly.

"Harry!" Molly sounded aghast, and Severus stared at his cake, becoming very interested in the nuts embedded in the frosting. He was just waiting for someone to start berating him for upsetting the precious Potter. With a scowl, he took a bite of the cake and made a silent bet with himself as to who would speak first. His money was on McGonagall.

To his surprise, it was Lupin. "What was all that about?" he asked, sitting down across from Severus. "What wouldn't you tell him?"

Severus lifted his head just enough to glare menacingly. "He asked about my family and I told him it was none of his concern," he replied succinctly. "And it isn't."

Molly looked torn, and finally she dried her hands on a cuptowel and slipped out of the kitchen.

"He's just a boy, you know. He's still trying to work out where he fits into everything. He asks everyone about their family eventually," Lupin observed. "It's probably a sign of his growing trust that he asked you."

Severus' scowl did not lighten by a fraction. "I'm honored," he spat, dropping his fork onto his plate.

"I'm not trying to defend him, Severus. He had no call to say what he did. I merely hoped that you could be persuaded to forgive him the transgression, given that he is..."

"That he is Harry Potter and therefore exempt from all standards of society? Of course. How foolish of me."

McGonagall lowered herself into the chair beside Severus and leaned her head to his to speak softly. "He has had as miserable a life to this point as you had at that age. Perhaps you could find it in your heart to turn the other cheek from time to time, even if his actions are inexcusable."

Severus sighed. "Fine," he muttered. "I know when I've lost. I'll go apologize to the little..."

"No one is asking you to do any such thing, Severus. Just... forgive him. Unless there is a reason he deserves an apology from you...?"

He reflected momentarily that Potter probably deserved a number of apologies from him, but he wasn't likely to get any of them. And for this least of all. "No," he replied, "he instigated this on his own."

The kitchen door opened again and a sullen-looking Potter re-entered the room, hands in his pockets, looking properly abashed. Molly was directly on his heels, her hands on her hips, watching him. Potter grimaced, then took a deep breath and walked over to where Severus was sitting. "I'm sorry, Professor, for being rude. I shouldn't have said that."

For a moment, Severus was tempted to retort that he wasn't interested in apologies that Molly Weasley had ordered him to make, and as he glanced up at her, her eyes focused on Harry in the same way that they were normally focused on Fred and George, Severus had no doubt in his mind that it had been Molly, not Harry, who decided that the apology was called for. As it happened, though, he realized before speaking that he didn't actually care about the motivations, or really even whether or not the boy was truly sorry. He was astounded, when he thought about it, that Molly had decided the offense great enough to intervene on his behalf. And, Lupin and McGonagall had also allowed that Harry was out of line. The three of them had come down on _his_ side in this matter, the first indication he'd ever had from any of them that the untouchable boy who lived was, indeed, just a bratty teenager like any other bratty teenager. He changed his intended words to something along the lines of 'forget it, Potter,' but stopped himself once more before he spoke, suddenly recalling the graceful way Lupin accepted apologies. He nodded slightly. "Apology accepted, Mr. Potter," he replied almost formally. Harry shot Molly a questioning look, and she nodded, and he turned around, still looking like he had a bitter taste in his mouth, and Severus suddenly had an almost irresistible desire to laugh. Imagine, the famous Harry Potter pouting over being told to apologize. "Come here, Mr. Potter," he said suddenly, and Harry cringed, but returned. Severus waved to a chair and Harry sat, looking as though he were trying very hard to be on his best behavior.

"I want to explain something to you, Mr. Potter," he said softly. "Rumor has it that you have had an unhappy childhood, and, believe me when I say that the older you get, the more you will wish to forget it. And there are many who have had equally unhappy childhoods, and do not wish to have the past dredged up again."

"Did you have an unhappy childhood?" Harry asked, and Severus sighed. Hadn't he _just_ told the boy that?

"Very," he replied shortly. "And an unhappy adolescence and an unhappy adulthood and I don't wish to discuss any of it with you or anyone else. Is that quite clear?"

Harry nodded, but spoke again. "Sometimes it helps to talk about things," he offered.

"So people keep telling me," Severus countered. "And I've yet to see the benefit. Now drop it, Mr. Potter."

"But..."

"Harry, go see what Ron's up to," Arthur said, sounding tired. "And stop wheedling Professor Snape."

With a sigh, Harry stood, looking abashed again. "Yes sir," he muttered, more to his shoes than anything, and slipped out of the room. Severus stared after him.

"He is very different here than he is at school, isn't he?" he observed after a moment.

Lupin nodded. "Very. The way the Dursleys treat him is barely human, and I think he half-expects every rebuke to come with some horrid punishment."

Severus frowned at the door. "What do they do to him?" he asked quietly.

Lupin was silent, as were Molly and Arthur. It was McGonagall who spoke finally. "That is no more for us to tell you than it is for us to tell him about your past," she replied. "Though, if you are interested in hearing it, perhaps you should ask him. But only if you are willing to reciprocate the tale." He looked oddly at Minerva, who smiled sympathetically. "You and he have more in common than either of you realize."


	21. What are friends for?

"Minerva?"

Dumbledore, McGonagall and the children were readying themselves to depart back to Hogwarts and for the last several moments, Severus had been watching from a safe distance. As he spoke now, Minerva's head came up to regard him with more of the formal courtesy that was demanded between colleagues. "Yes, Severus?" she replied, lifting an eyebrow.

"A word before you depart, if you don't mind," he said, and paused only a heartbeat to make sure she was going to follow before he turned down the corridor. He beckoned her into one of the less-exhaustively cleaned rooms in the house, a room which had obviously been a sitting room of some sort at once. He cast a lumos spell, bringing the few candles to a soft glow.

"Yes?" she repeated, still maintaining some of the formality. He had to make a conscious effort not to scowl.

"I owe you an apology," he said stiffly, folding his arms. "What I said to you earlier in the week was... inappropriate."

She snorted a soft laugh. "To say the least," she agreed. "But don't trouble yourself over it any more, Severus. You had your reasons, and I'm just glad it was I who bore the brunt of your temper and not some hapless student."

He answered her only with silence and a slight scowl that was likely not visible in the dim light.

"Are you feeling better?" she asked softly, reaching for his hand. "You looked better this evening."

He nodded, then, remembering the weak illumination, answered verbally. "I am, thank you. I think..." he swallowed hard. Apologizing was becoming far less difficult for him, but there were other things that had replaced it for taxing his senses. "I think you were right. To do what you did." It was miserable to admit that he was wrong about something, and that someone else had been right.

"Everyone has a breaking point, Severus," she said, sounding suddenly as wise as Dumbledore. "And we are all counting on you to not reach yours just yet. You _have_ to take care of yourself, and if you won't do it, don't be surprised if someone else doesn't do it for you."

He sighed softly. "I know," he murmured. "Dumbledore already told me. I'm too critical to the Order for—"

"Don't be ridiculous," she replied, a little too briskly to not arouse his suspicions. "Yes, you are critical to the Order's success, but there are plenty of people here who are concerned about you, legitimately concerned, and it has nothing to do with your importance to the Order." She lifted a hand to his face, her fingers sure and steady as she turned his head towards her. "I cared about you when you were a child," she said softly, "and I care about you now. Remember that, Severus. There are plenty of us who care about you."

He exhaled a soft laugh. "Thank you for that," he replied. "I'll try to keep it in mind. For now, though..."

She patted his cheek. "For now, you just get some sleep," she answered. "And keep eating properly. And whatever else you've been doing these past three days that has you looking human instead of a walking corpse. And don't worry about a few words spoken in anger, Severus. I've already forgotten what either of us said, though I'm sure I owe you an apology as well."

He snorted softly and shook his head. "Thank you," he whispered again.

"Was there anything else?" she asked.

After a brief hesitation, he nodded. "Actually, yes. There's a First Year student. Amber Carlisle. Is she...?"

In the dim light, it was impossible to be certain, but Severus thought Minerva was smiling. "She's such a delight, Severus, that I don't know how she got sorted into Slytherin." Had they been in better light, he was sure that he would have seen her eyes sparkling; Minerva and he had a long standing, friendly rivalry between their Houses. The Houses themselves just had a rivalry, seemingly forgetting the friendly part of it, but the two Heads did keep their competition largely to a light-hearted banter. He took great delight in informing her when Slytherin was ahead of Gryffindor in points, in Quidditch, in OWL scores... in anything really. For once, though, he wasn't in the mood for it.

"Hrm," he replied neutrally. "Keep an eye on her? She's... in a precarious position, I'm afraid, and..."

"Say no more," Minerva replied softly. Despite appearances, the Hogwarts staff was quite closely-knit, particularly the Heads. If one of them was concerned about a student, it was common for those concerns to be brought forth, there was a mutual understanding. Severus didn't have to explain the situation to Minerva, but he felt better knowing that there would be someone who would look out for the delicate child. "Do I need to do more than keep an eye on her?" she asked.

After a moment's thought, Severus shrugged, forgetting once again that the darkness of the room was not conducive to such gestures. "It likely wouldn't hurt for her to know that she can talk to someone. She is Aislinn's sister, you know?"

"I know. I have answered a number of questions about her sister." Severus nodded, feeling like there was more he should say, but not knowing what it might be. Minerva seemed to sense his concerns, and squeezed his arm softly. "She'll be fine, Severus. Honestly. If you're concerned about her getting into mischief, I can assign her an extra essay or some sort, keep her occupied for the weekend."

"That won't be necessary," he shook his head. "Just..." with a sigh, he crossed his arms again and paced. "I wouldn't have thought that of all the things I left so abruptly it would be the concerns of Head of Slytherin that weigh most on my mind. The essays I haven't graded, the lesson plans, the detentions... it can all rot. But there are students in Slytherin who are..."

"Vulnerable," Minerva suggested, and he nodded.

"Quite."

"Are there any others I should keep a particular eye on?"

Severus snorted. "Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, obviously. Merlin knows what those three have been planning without intervention, or who their next victim will be. Any of the girls. The First, Second and Third years particularly. The Seventh Years. This is a Hogsmeade weekend, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. "Can you trust the Head Boy and Girl to do an accurate curfew-check?" It was, of course, a valid question. The idea was that Head Boy and Girl should be that trustworthy, but it did not always turn out so.

"I believe so," Minerva replied. "But I will have Albus check on the boys and I will check the girls myself," she assured him. "They will be _fine_, Severus. Slytherin is not going to fall into the lake while you are gone, however some of my boys wish it."

He smiled slightly, grateful that she was so confident and wanting to trust her and... And somehow wishing she wasn't so sure that the House wouldn't fall apart without his guidance. There was some large part of him that liked to think that he had an active role in keeping young Slytherins from all turning to the Dark Lord. Foolish, yes, but he did like to think he was important in that regard. "I suppose you're right," he sighed.

She seemed to sense what he was thinking, though, and squeezed his arm again. "Now," she said conspiratorially, "if you were gone for two weeks, I wouldn't put it past some of the Gryffindors to find a way to make it happen, but I do think they will survive the weekend admirably. Put it from your mind. Surely between us Albus and I can keep them in line, don't you think?"

He had his doubts, but didn't voice them. "I'm just a silly old sot sometimes," he told her with a self-derisive shrug. "Don't mind me."

"You are concerned for the students in your charge, Severus. That does not make you silly. And, I refuse to acknowledge that you are anything even approaching old, because if you are, then what does that make me, might I ask? No. Not silly, not old. A sot sometimes, of course, but we're all entitled to our moments, and I suppose I can allow that even you are to be excused. Now, is there anything else on your mind?"

He shook his head. "Thank you," he repeated once more, beginning to feel like a parrot with a limited vocabulary.

She touched his shoulder, and for a moment he sensed that she was going to pull him into an embrace, but she did not. He was relieved, on some level, but far more disturbing, he was also a bit disappointed. He wished she had, and was considering instigating the affection himself when she let her hand drop. "Good night, then. And don't worry. Everything is, and will continue to be, fine." She slipped out of the room again, leaving him to stand there for a moment, wishing he wasn't such a spineless coward that he couldn't even step forward to claim a hug from one of the most infamously affectionate women at Hogwarts. A woman whom he respected and counted as one of his exceedingly few friends.

He lingered in the dim room for a moment, then, with a wave of his wand, doused the candles and stepped back into the hallway just in time to hear the last of the good-byes before, one by one, students and professors stepped back into the fireplace to floo back to Hogwarts. When he entered the kitchen, Severus found that Dumbledore was just leaving, the last of the Hogwarts group to go. The Weasleys were also preparing to leave, though they would simply be Apparating.

"Good night, Severus." Molly was bustling over to him and drawing him into one of her firm, motherly embraces that left him feeling crushed and oddly comforted at the same time. It was a claustrophobic feeling, being around her, and yet, when she was gone there seemed a void where she had been.

"Good night," he replied, absently kissing her cheek without even thinking of it. His mind was still on Harry and Minerva and Amber and... And Autumn, if he was entirely honest. He wondered if it was too late to go back to London for the night. Probably was. It was nearly midnight, after all.

Had he been a little more attentive, he might have noticed the looks the Weasley twins exchanged, looks edged heavily with disbelief. He might have noticed how Molly beamed, or how Arthur smiled slightly, or how Bill tilted his head to one side, seeming to consider him in a different light. He noticed none of that, though, as he shook Arthur's proffered hand.

"Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Professor," Bill shook his hand as well, just as he'd shaken Lupin's. The twins called their farewells with a wave, and then, not quite in unison, the five Weasleys Disapparated, and suddenly Number Twelve Grimmauld Place seemed exceptionally quiet.

"Where are Tonks and Shacklebolt?" Severus asked, sinking into a chair at the table.

Remus joined him. "They left while you were talking to McGonagall. Tonks told me to give you a hug for her, by the way, but I'm not actually going to unless you promise you won't hex me for the effort." The smirk on Remus' face said that he didn't think that was a particularly likely promise to wrench from Severus, and Severus returned the smirk.

"Thanks for the thought," he replied, keeping his voice carefully neutral. There was nothing this side of hell that was going to make him reveal that he actually craved such contact at the moment. He'd been feeling oddly raw and exposed since the Occlumency lesson with Potter this evening, and for once, he did actually long for an embrace, but his pride would never allow him to admit it.

The silence stretched between them, and the longer it lingered, the more heavily it weighed on Severus' heart. He never would have believed it had anyone suggested such a thing was possible, but he suddenly missed the chatter and hum of people now that everyone was gone. It was almost as though something was missing.

"I don't see how you can stand it here," he muttered after another long moment.

"What do you mean?"

"It's so... quiet," Severus replied, standing suddenly and making a circuit of the kitchen. There were few implements that he didn't touch, straighten, pick up or move. He opened cupboards and doors, ran his fingers over shelves, closed cupboards and drawers and nudged the rug at the sink back into place with the toe of his shoe. He was restless, he realized with a start. He had long since learned to control restlessness, but here he was, as bad as he'd ever been as a teenager. Most people had what amounted to nervous habits. Twirling of hair, cracking of knuckles. James Potter had been prone to ruffling his hair or playing with a snitch. Remus had always seemed to have a book on hand, and Severus had once watched for better than thirty minutes as the werewolf didn't even turn a page. Severus, as a student, had been prone to picking things up and putting them back, straightening them sometimes. Unconsciously aligning books or jars or anything else that might be on a shelf, all a single finger-width from the edge, and he was doing that now for the first time in years.

The realization was enough to make him stop, forcing his hands to stillness and pushing the restless energy deep inside where it couldn't escape. The effort it took to subdue that energy surprised him.

Remus had been silent through Severus' little display of restlessness, but as the Potions Master returned to the table to sit, the other man finally spoke. "It can be very quiet here," he agreed. "Particularly when there has been a crowd and everyone leaves at once. It's always easier when everyone just drifts away slowly. But, somehow, I wouldn't he thought the silence would bother you."

Severus snorted softly. "I wouldn't have thought it either," he replied.

Once again, silence settled, but this time, it did not stretch long before Lupin stood. "I'd offer entertainment, but I don't really know..." he frowned. "We've already established that I'm a lousy opponent at chess. I think there is a deck of cards in the drawing room... game of snap?"

Severus frowned slightly. "I don't know how to play," he replied.

Remus looked momentarily taken aback. "What do you mean you don't know how to play? Everyone plays snap. It's practically a required course at Hogwarts, or it was when we were students..."

"And it's a game that requires more than one person to play," Severus retorted, somewhat testily. "And if you remember, I never had an over-abundance of companionship when we were in school."

"Oh. Right." The silence became awkward again. "I guess I never really considered all the implications..." he said softly. "I mean, I knew you were lonely, but..."

"Please, spare me the trip down memory lane. Somehow it's never as pleasant for me as it is everyone else."

Lupin nodded slightly, but the silence, which Severus had decided was a blessed alternative to talking about the past, did not last for long. "You told Harry that you had an unhappy childhood," Remus said softly. "And an unhappy adolescence and an unhappy adulthood. Do you have no happy memories?"

Severus shrugged. "Not really," he replied. "A few worth holding onto. Not many, though." He stood again, abruptly, and walked to the fireplace, taking great interest in a perceived smudge on the marble. He rubbed furiously at it with his thumb.

"What kind?" Lupin asked.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Why? I can understand you not wanting to discuss the painful memories but..."

"Drop it, Lupin."

"It wouldn't kill you to tell me that something good has happened to you, would it?"

"A few good things have happened to me," Severus replied evenly. "I told you. Now that's enough."

"A birthday party when you were a kid?"

_Party? For something so common as a birthday?_ The idea was foreign to Severus. "No."

"Christmas morning when you got something you'd really wanted?"

"We never celebrated Christmas."

"First dance?"

"Lupin..."

"First kiss?" Lupin suggested softly, and Severus scowled at the smudge.

"Hardly," he muttered under his breath, thinking briefly of that awkward moment when he was a Third Year. One of the Fifth Year Gryffindors had led him up to the Astronomy Tower, where everyone knew that there was only one reason to be when one wasn't in class. She'd tilted his head back—she was nearly six inches taller than he was, as he'd not had his growth spurt yet—and lowered her mouth to his, forcing her tongue between his lips with such fervor it had left him breathless. When she'd drawn away from him, she'd whispered, _'Do you know what?'_ in a low, sultry voice. He'd not even been able to speak, just shook his head. _'You're a lousy kisser,'_ she announced, suddenly spinning away from him so abruptly that her braid swung out and smacked him on the nose. The only thing that could have possibly made it worse was if there had been other people there to see it, and, to his horror, that had been exactly the truth. More than a dozen Gryffindor students had suddenly made their presences known, chortling with laughter as the beautiful Mathilda Mahoney walked, grinning and wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist, to a pair of Seventh Year boys, holding out her other hand. A couple of galleons were placed in her palm and she grumbled, '_Let's get out of here. I need something to get the taste out of my mouth.'_

"First lay?" Lupin was nearer when he suggested that one.

Severus turned suddenly and glared at his tormentor. "Will you please cease this digging into my personal life? Why is everyone so damnably interested in my past, all of the sudden?"

Lupin was grinning lasciviously. "I touched a nerve, did I? Come on, tell me."

"No."

"I'll tell you about mine..."

"I'm sure I should be enthralled with the idea."

"Come on. We were both in Sixth Year, and she was..."

"Remus, I really don't want to hear about it."

Lupin sighed. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I keep forgetting that despite a few peaceful conversations, you're determined that we aren't friends."

Severus' sigh echoed Lupin's. "Bloody..." he began, then trailed off and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Is that what it means to be a friend?" he asked in one of his lower, more dangerous tones.

"To talk and share? Yes. That's certainly part of it."

"Then, I guess you're right. We aren't friends, because I've no intention of sharing that part of my past with you." He turned away again, then licked his index finger and scrubbed at another soot smear on the mantle.

"Why not? You needn't be ashamed. Was Aislinn your first..."

Severus snorted, momentarily amused. "I wish I could say that she was. I would far rather tell you that I was a thirty-seven year-old virgin before she came along than tell you the truth of it."

"And what is the truth?"

Severus scowled, and was bloody close to telling Lupin to sod off, but something stopped him, and instead, he turned slowly, leaning against the wall, his arms folded in front of his chest again. "You want to know about my first fuck, Remus? Fine. But don't say I didn't try to warn you off the subject. I was eighteen, and the youngest of the Death Eaters, and we had just had a very successful night of ridding the wizarding world of half a dozen Mudblood wretches. As a reward for our success, the Dark Lord allowed us the pleasure of Muggle women." Severus took a step forward, until he was toe to toe with Remus. "I raped her, and then I killed her," he said softly, his voice entirely void of emotion. "I have been with thirteen women. An auspicious number, no? Autumn, whom you've met. Aislinn whom you've heard me speak of, three whores, whose names I have forgotten, and eight women whose names I never knew, and whose consent was not necessary." Abruptly, Severus stalked away from the other man. "Are you happy, now?" he asked. "Murderer and rapist, two excellent qualifications for any Circum Vitae, don't you think? Now, if you will excuse me, I am suddenly quite exhausted. Don't forget to lock your door, lest I decide to make you my next victim."

He stalked towards the door, and was halfway up the stairs when he heard footsteps behind him. Not bothering to look over his shoulder, Severus continued on the path he'd set, and didn't pause until he reached the third floor, and then only because he heard the squeak of the tricky step behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, Remus was there, which was unsurprising on one level and quite surprising on another.

"Haven't had enough?" Severus asked softly. "Shall I tell you about my murders as well?"

"Stop it, Severus," Lupin ordered softly. "I know that you have things in your past that you regret. I wasn't trying to..."

"Who said I regretted any of it?" A sneer curled at Severus' lips. "You are making assumptions."

"Don't you?" Lupin asked softly. "Or are those the pleasant memories? You're right. I did assume, based on the way you reacted when I suggested..."

Severus sighed. "And regret changes nothing, does it? It doesn't change or excuse who I am or what I have done. And, though I've enjoyed pretending to be a nice guy these last few days, I know it's just a pretense. Nothing can change who I was."

"And it has no relevance on who you are now. You walked away from those things, Severus, and that has to count for something."

"Do you have a sister, Remus?"

Lupin blinked, caught off guard by the seemingly unrelated question. "Yes, but I don't see what that..."

"And how would you feel if you saw me with her?" Severus asked softly. "If you walked into a room, and I had her pinned beneath me, my mouth on hers..."

"I'd probably forget I had a wand and punch your lights out," Remus replied promptly. "Then I'd hold you down while her husband did the same."

Severus snorted. "Once again, I think you missed the point."

"No," Remus said softly. "I don't think so. All right, I'll admit it. I wouldn't be pleased and there's a good chance I'd not see beyond you past. But you know something? You're no murderer or rapist. You are just a man, who has unfortunate things in his past..."

"You don't really believe that."

"You're right. It's appalling. Is that what you want to hear? It is absolutely sickening, and I cannot, no matter how hard I try, see you as anything other than a depraved criminal at the moment, and I have half a mind to tell you to get the hell out of my house. I have half a mind to storm back to Hogwarts and announce to the Gryffindor Common Room that the potions master has sordid details in his past that their parents wouldn't approve of. I have half a mind to go to Autumn and tell her to stay far away from you because you are dangerous and not to be trusted and I have half a mind to demand that Albus intercede and force the Occlumency lessons to stop because I don't want Harry with someone like you." Each word stung more than Severus would have cared to admit, but he kept his face neutral.

"I'll pack my things," he replied. "And if you announce it to Gryffindor, I'll pack up my office and do the same thing you did."

"I'm not going to announce it to Gryffindor," Lupin replied evenly. "And I'm not going to tell you to get out and I'm not going to tell Autumn to stay away from you and I'm not going to insist that the lessons with Harry discontinue. Because the other half of my mind, Severus, remembers that for the last week, you have been something approaching kind and compassionate at times. It remembers that we've sat at the kitchen table sharing Molly's chocolate cake and bottles of beer. That you invited me to dinner with you and your new... whatever Autumn is to you." Lupin circled Severus slowly, then placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "That you have been making Wolfsbane potion for me for the last four years, even though you didn't have to, and it has given me something resembling sanity. That you told the children that their ideas had merit." Remus stood in front of him, holding his face with both hands. Not the romantic caress that Aislinn and Autumn had given him, nor the affectionate pats that Minerva and Albus were wont to do from time to time, but a stubborn refusal to let him turn away. "The Muggles have this concept of reforming their criminals," Lupin said softly. "Of turning them back into productive and responsible members of society. You are a reformed man, Severus. You are a _good_ man. Don't forget that. Don't let your past be an easy excuse to not even try to be part of the present."

For a long moment after the startling speech, Severus was silent. He didn't know what to say, and thus decided to say nothing. At length, though, he nodded, a slight smile on his lips, genuine if not entirely happy. "Thank you," he whispered.

Lupin let go of him. "What are friends for?" he asked softly. "Good night."

Once again, Severus wished he had the courage to instigate an embrace, feeling more raw and vulnerable now than he had even before. He hadn't that courage, though, and as Lupin walked back downstairs, he steadied himself, then took himself into his room, where he curled up on the bed, clutching a pillow to his chest. It was a poor substitute for human affection, but far from the first time he'd spent a night clinging to a pillow for sanity.


	22. Wrong

As he'd managed to get to bed at a more reasonable time last night than he had in almost a week, Severus found that he woke with the sun and, soon after breakfast, embarked on a journey into London again. He'd asked Remus if he wished to come along, but the werewolf had declined the offer, to Severus' pleasure, as the invitation had only been born of courtesy anyway. As he approached Autumn's flat, he found himself smoothing his hair almost subconsciously. An exercise in futility, to say the least.

He lifted his hand to knock, and thought suddenly that there was something he should have done before coming here. He should have used one of those Muggle telly-phoons to call her and ask if it was all right to come. She'd given him her number, and he was sure that if he tried hard enough he could have figured out how to make one of those contraptions work. He had left her number in his room at Headquarters, though.

No point in worrying about it now, he thought, and, taking a deep breath, he rapped firmly on the door. It took a few minutes before he heard rustling inside, and then the door opened a crack, and he noted that there was still a chain holding it shut. One eye peered out, then the door shut more firmly and opened wide, giving him a spectacular view of the woman he'd come to visit.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, pulling him inside quickly and then wrapping her arms around him as though answering the door in nothing but a bath towel was an every day occurrence for her. It was _not_ an every day occurrence for him to be greeted in such a fashion, and his response was instant, and somewhat curious. His body responded to her closeness in a predictable enough way; after all, she was much more than half naked and her skin still radiated a warmth, and she was dripping wet… all enough to arouse interest. Less expected, however, was the effect her embrace had. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to sweep her into his arms and hold her against him, not moving at all, for the rest of the day.

"I… er… didn't mean to interrupt your shower," he offered by way of an apology.

"Oh, it's all right," she grinned. "Just make yourself at home. I'm going to finish getting dressed. Promise, I'll only be five minutes. Sit!" she gestured at the sofa, and he sat, gingerly adjusting the erection she seemed so blissfully ignorant of having left him.

True to her word, Autumn was only five minutes or so in getting ready, and when she appeared from the bathroom, a hairbrush in her hands, she was so respectably dressed that Severus didn't think anyone in their right mind would have believed that she was the same woman who'd answered the door in a bath towel.

"I was beginning to think you weren't going to be here," she commented idly.

Severus frowned and glanced at the clock, which now appeared to be working properly. If it was to be believed, it wasn't quite ten o'clock yet. "Unless time is playing an unexpected trick, I don't see how you could have feared that," he replied.

"Willow said you'd be here by ten," Autumn rejoined. "So I waited until a quarter till before I took my shower, because I was afraid I wouldn't hear you." His frown deepened, and it must have become pronounced enough for Autumn to notice. "Oh. Was she not supposed to tell me that?"

Severus shrugged. "It does not matter to me if she told you, but I do not see how she knew, considering I didn't tell her with any certainty that I _would_ be coming today, and _I_ didn't even know what time it would be until I left this morning."

This news hardly seemed to unnerve Autumn. "Willow is always predicting things. She's right more than she's wrong, really."

"Oh." Severus was rather startled at the matter-of-fact way that Autumn said that, but he nodded, accepting it on some level. He was slowly beginning to have an idea that if these Muggles didn't quite manage to dabble in magic, they certainly pushed the boundaries at times.

"And, I'm going to get your gift right now, before you manage to disappear on me again. Stay there," she ordered, jumping up again. He watched as she slipped off to a door he'd never seen past, his eyes locked on the seductive sway of her hips. She was wearing a skirt today, and it was long enough to swirl tantalizingly about her ankles. Odd that such a long, full skirt could make his throat tighten in a way that even her more revealing outfits could not.

A moment later, any thoughts he might have had of her clothes were chased away by her return. A return accompanied by something small and black in her hands. He watched almost warily as she drew closer, and then deposited the small black thing in his lap. It _moved_.

"What's this?" he asked, though the small black thing had turned big green eyes up to him now, and he could see very well what it was.

"Mrowr?" it seemed to be inquiring the same thing of him.

"He doesn't have a proper name yet, though I think he thinks 'Kitty' is his name," Autumn said, choosing not to answer the obvious question. "He's a little sweetie, isn't he?"

The 'little sweetie' was rubbing his head against Severus' hand, as though daring him not to pet him. Severus, for his part, was making an admirable show of not giving into the temptation, however alluring it might be.

"And what am I supposed to do with him?" Severus asked, looking at Autumn again. The kitten was now snuggling into the crook of Severus' arm, which prompted him to look down again.

"Aislinn wanted you to have him. Well, she wanted you to have a kitten. She told me to find you a black kitten with green eyes, but I have to tell you that that's not as easy as it sounds. Most black cats have golden eyes, it seems, or maybe it was just that I was looking for one with green…"

"Autumn," he interrupted her. The kitten had decided that curling up in his arm wasn't good enough, and had climbed to his shoulder and was now purring into his left ear. "I don't know anything about cats." He cast a sideways glance at the kitten, who promptly licked his cheek.

"You'll learn," she replied cheerfully. "They're really very easy to take care of. Take care of themselves, really. Now, I have a food and water dish for him, and a sack of kitten food, and a few toys, though really at that age, he'll play with just about anything. He's fourteen weeks old, now, so by September at the latest, you'll need to have him neutered and…"

"Have him _what?_" Severus asked, aghast.

"Neutered. It's really very irresponsible to leave male kittens un-neutered if you're keeping them for pets. Besides, he'll be more affectionate if he's neutered. Otherwise, he'll be so busy prowling that you'll never see him."

Severus shook his head and turned to look at the kitten, who reached a paw to his nose. "I really don't think I'm a good candidate for a cat," he protested as the kitten decided he wanted on Severus' other shoulder and so crawled through his hair and around the back of his neck.

"Nonsense. He loves you. Just look at him."

Grimacing, Severus reached up and disentangled two black paws from his hair. The cat was _grooming_ him. "He's…" The kitten took that moment to yawn a yawn that was entirely too big for such a small creature, and then settled into his lap again. Severus was at a loss for words.

Autumn settled herself onto the sofa beside him and leaned against his chest, and, after a moment, Severus placed an arm around her shoulders. "Do you not want him? Really, Severus, if you don't, I can find him another home. I wouldn't force you to take him."

Glancing down at the gently vibrating ball of sleek black fur, Severus couldn't resist the temptation to scratch one of the pointy little ears. "It's just… unexpected," he murmured. "Why would Aislinn want me to have a cat?"

Autumn shrugged, and in so doing managed to snuggle closer to him. "She probably thought he'd be a good companion for you."

Of course. Aislinn had always had a sense about her, infuriating at times, of when he'd needed that extra squeeze. He'd never asked for it, and doubted he ever would, but she'd always known, instinctively, what he needed. And it was odd how that 'always' floated in his mind so easily when he thought of her. He felt like he'd always known her, but he had not. He'd known her as a student, of course, but that was to say he knew her name and how she was apt to perform on potions. He'd not truly known her until… mid-November, really, and she'd been gone in January. Three months. Three months now seemed to account for 'forever and always' in his mind.

And how long had it taken him to put her from his mind? As he sat there now, in Autumn's flat, the petite woman settled comfortably against him, he couldn't help but berate himself. It had been one week since her funeral. Never mind that it had been nearly four months since he last saw her, or that she had disappeared without so much as a word of explanation, or that a lifetime's worth of events had taken place in this past week. The bottom line, the end that was unjustified by the means, was that one week ago, he had attended the memorial service of the woman who had brought him to life, and within days he had been shagging one of her closest friends.

You really are despicable, he told himself, and suddenly straightened. "I need to go," he told Autumn rather abruptly.

"But you just got here," she protested.

He sighed softly. "I know, and I'm sorry, but I shouldn't have even come. Or rather, I should have behaved myself on Wednesday and then none of this…"

She had placed a finger over his lips. "Regrets?" she asked softly. "Don't run away from me, Severus. Talk to me. Nothing is so bad that we can't talk it out."

"Yes, it is," he insisted. _I'm as bad as everyone thinks and says I am,_ he thought. "I need to go. This is wrong. It's…" he trailed off, and imagined for a moment that Aislinn was there. "It's just wrong." He was standing, the now blinking kitten in his hands. He looked at the kitten for a moment, then at the paraphernalia that Autumn seemed to think was necessary for caring for a cat, and he wondered if he really had the energy for that. If he was quite so cruel as to put a helpless creature through his ineptitude. He shook his head. "Here," he murmured, placing the kitten on the sofa. "I can't care for him." He tried to ignore the strange empty feeling he suddenly had. Unlikely though it might be, the kitten had been quite warm, really, and he felt oddly cold without it.

"You aren't really leaving, are you?" Autumn asked, her eyes growing wider.

"Yes, I'm afraid I am."

"But why?" She was standing too now, and looking up at him. She was so small. There were Second Year students at Hogwarts who were taller than she was, and it somehow strengthened his resolve, as though for a moment he equated short with young.

"Because this is all wrong," he replied. It's not right. It's…"

"Wrong. You keep saying that. But _what's _wrong? Sit down. Please?"

He looked at the sofa again, somewhat doubtfully, and she sighed, then waved at the chair. "Then sit over there! I won't so much as touch you, I swear it, but please, Severus? Don't I at least deserve to know why?"

Yes, she probably did deserve to know why, but he wasn't sure he was prepared to explain it to her. He stood there for a moment longer, then moved over to the indicated chair, seating himself in it gingerly. He didn't know what to say.

"Why?" Autumn asked again, sounding distressed.

For a long moment, Severus was quiet, then he swallowed hard and began, "Aislinn…" and that was as far as he got before the lump welled in his throat.

After a moment, Autumn nodded. "I see," she whispered.

He took an exceptional interest in the pattern on the arm of the chair, touching a fingertip to it, tracing a whorl and concentrating fully on the task which seemed inordinately crucial. "I loved her," he said after a moment, the words sounding soft and hesitant to his own ears. "At least, I thought I did. But, if I did…"

"How could you have tumbled into bed with her best friend so soon after she was gone." Autumn's voice carried a frown. "How could you have found happiness again so quickly." They were not questions, but statements of fact. He lifted his eyes to study her. "I've thought the same thing," Autumn continued softly. "If she were still here, Severus, I would never have looked at you twice, because I care too much for her. Cared too much. I would have pretended nothing was wrong and kept up the pretense if it killed me." She drew her feet onto the sofa and hugged her knees.

"But she is gone, Severus, from this life, at least, and she wouldn't want any of her friends to be miserable. Not because they were holding onto her memory." Autumn suddenly moved, unfolding her feet and reminding him how graceful she was, and she came to kneel in front of his chair, though, true to her word, she did not so much as touch him. "You can't bring her back, and all the wishing in the world can't change that," she whispered firmly. "The best you can do is be happy. It's what she would have wanted."

Severus lifted his eyes to hers and watched for a moment, then looked at the arm of the chair again.

"Tell me you don't want me," Autumn said softly. "Tell me you're not interested, and I swear I'll stand up and you can walk away and that will be the end of it. But don't walk out on me because you want someone who isn't anymore."

For a very long moment, he was silent, and then he shook his head. "Why?" he asked softly. She blinked at him in confusion, and he elaborated. "Why are you so interested in me? It isn't as though I'm a prime catch."

Autumn settled onto her heels and smiled at him. "I think you underestimate yourself," she said softly.

"But why?"

It was her turn to be silent, for a very long moment, and then she shook her head. "I don't know," she replied finally. "Maybe it was the wine. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find someone who appreciates a good wine? I don't remember the last time I found anyone. Plenty who drink it, who even know enough not to serve a Merlot with shellfish, but not anyone who has an actual appreciation for it." She frowned a bit. "Maybe it was because we were sharing such a potent pain," she offered softly. "We had something in common, and we reached for each other and connected." She shrugged. "Maybe it was fate, though I'm not as likely to say that as Willow would, but then, I never had her ability to glimpse the future. Does it really matter, though?"

Yes, it matters, Severus thought sullenly. _It matters because, as far as I can see, it was nothing more than a pity fuck, and I don't want your pity any more than I want anyone else's. And that's a pathetic place to build anything else._ Aloud, he merely said, "I really think I need to be on my way. I am sorry to have been such a bother these last few days, and to no end." He stood, carefully sidestepping her and determinedly not touching her in any way. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but I do hope you are able to find a more suitable home for the cat. Good day."

He was out of the door before Autumn could protest further.


	23. The Weaning of Memory

He didn't really want to go back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place just yet. In fact, he wasn't at all sure he wanted to return to Headquarters at _all._ The thought of even more 'sympathy' was simply unbearable, and he didn't want to face questions from Remus and he didn't want to sit in that big, quiet house and try to ignore the one other person who would be there… Somewhere in all his list of things he _didn't_ want to do, there had to be something he _did_ want to do, but he couldn't imagine what that might be. At such a loss, Severus found himself wandering rather aimlessly, not even entirely sure where he was, precisely, but that didn't particularly worry him; after all, he didn't need to know where he was in order to Apparate away from the place.

At length, his meanderings took him to the river, and for a few moments, he stared across the water of the Upper Thames. The fog that had been settled over the city had lifted by now, and, in the distance, Severus could hear the chiming of one or another clock announcing that it was eleven now. An hour since he'd arrived at Autumn's door. He hadn't spent long there, obviously. Just long enough to destroy the his chances of becoming too pleasurably involved with anyone again.

Why did you do that, you dunderhead? And why are you here, instead of at her door, begging forgiveness? Buy her a dozen roses and a box of chocolates and crawl back to her on your knees and beg her to give you another chance. You were happy with her.

That was the problem, wasn't it? He was happy with her, and somehow, it seemed wrong to be happy. He knew, of course, that Aislinn would have backhanded him if he'd ever expressed such a thought to her, but there it was. He had been in love with Aislinn Ichalia—_or fancied yourself in love with her—_and she'd no more than died before he'd tumbled right into another woman's arms and bed. Despicable. And yet, he knew that Autumn had been right. Aislinn would never begrudge him happiness.

She doesn't have to. I'm going to do the job for her. But why? Why was he so determined to thwart his own efforts at happiness? Was it really guilt, or was it more akin to fear? He considered that for a moment, but Severus had no frame of reference for either emotion. Fear was something he had spent a lifetime denying; guilt was a luxury he could never truly afford. Not true guilt, at least. A momentary pang here, a wisp there perhaps, but nothing that was strong enough to force him to action.

If it's fear, what am I afraid of? The pain, perhaps. He had been happy with Aislinn, allowed himself to trust her, to believe her foolish insistences that ecstasy was but a wish away. And it had been, for a while. There had been beauty and hope, and belief. Faith. That was a gift he hadn't realized she was giving him, but she had. She'd given him an overriding faith that some everything would work out in the end, and where had that gotten him? He'd soared through life for a few precious months, and had forgotten to be so sour and bitter. He'd forgotten to scowl quite so much. And now? Now he had forgotten what it meant to wake up and face a new day without dread. To want to get out of bed in the morning. To have a reason to shower and to brush his teeth and to eat breakfast and to put one foot in front of the other and move about his daily business. He'd forgotten what it felt like to have a reason to live, but he knew, with exquisite certainty that there had been a time in his life when he did know these things. And he could remember being happy.

Years… no, decades… of emptiness and solitude had built a hard shell around him. An impenetrable shell, that he didn't want anyone to get past, including himself, and everyone had seemed to accept that. To respect that. To leave him to his silent misery and chosen solitude. Damn her for reminding him what it meant to be happy; beside the memories of joy, pain was deeper, and Aislinn had been right when she said that he had a great capacity to feel. He hadn't realized it, but it was true. It was like a lake covered in ice, and now that there was a crack in the ice, he didn't know if he would ever be able to mend it so that he could walk across it unscathed. He was going to drown in his own emotions, trapped below the surface in a shell of his own making, and no one would even know the difference. The irony was nearly laughable. It might have been laughable if he had any inclination to laugh.

He paused in his aimless walking and looked around, as though to get his bearings. It was a fruitless labor, though, as he still didn't know where he was. A large, blocky building stood across the street, and he didn't know at first why it caught his eye, but he found himself staring at it for a long while. The bricks were old-looking, covered in soot and stains that spoke of decades of abuse from the harsh London atmosphere, but, oddly enough, running along the top of the structure was a glass… room? He stared at it, momentarily distracted from his sorrow.

Awareness crept into his eyes slowly as he realized that people were walking into the building in droves, and trickling out in a steady stream. He took a hesitant step forward, then shoved his hand into the pocket of his Muggle trousers and felt his fingers curl around a couple of crisp papers. He took them out and examined them, forcing himself to focus on the colorful picture of a young woman. It was a five pound note, and in his head he quickly tried and failed to convert the currency, but he didn't think it was worth very much. Not even a galleon, he'd say. And he had six of them, which meant that he had thirty pounds, which meant… Absolutely nothing to him. He wondered how many of these things he'd have to have in order to go into that building (experience told him that Muggles liked to make you pay for damn near everything, including entrance to various buildings.)

Shoving the notes back in his pocket, he watched the throng of people entering and exiting the building, trying to make up his mind. Finally, he stepped into the street and very nearly jumped backward as a red blur zoomed past him. Wide-eyed, he looked to his right, then to his left and to his right again, and, seeing nothing, stepped gingerly onto the street once more. Despite himself, he hurried across, feeling horribly self-conscious that he was nearly running until he realized that there were a dozen other people scurrying across as well. He breathed a minute sigh of relief as he came to a halt in front of the building and watched for a few minutes more.

Eventually, his overwhelming desire to forget so many things overcame his reluctance to make a fool of himself, and he waited until another large crowd began to push their way into the building, and then fell in behind them, following. To his surprise, they didn't stop to pay anything, and he continued to follow the throng until he was well and truly inside. He slipped off to one side and frowned slightly, trying to figure out where he was exactly. Finally, his eyes rested on a sign—Tate Modern. That was all. His frown deepened, and he took up his aimless wandering again, following whatever instincts would drive a person who had no idea where he was but was determined not to stand still and look foolish.

There was a dimly-lit hallway, and he followed it, finding himself in front of double doors that were flung open, a sign proclaiming 'Surrealist Exhibit' then a number of names that meant nothing to him. With a slight mental shrug, he stepped into the room, and spent a moment letting his eyes adjust to the new lighting before looking around. It was a gallery of some sort, and people walked through it, pausing to look at one painting and then moving on. Some of the people walked without so much as stopping, seeming largely uninterested in the paintings. Some of them stood and stared, their expressions ranging from perplexed to bored to admiring. Severus glanced around, and found a painting, and walked to it, planting himself in front of it.

It was… He blinked at it, and looked around, then looked at the painting again. It was… He caught his lower lip between his teeth and squinted at it. It was… He glanced around, and thought he could understand why there were so few people actually studying these paintings and wondered if this was what passed for Muggle art. He looked at the painting again. It was… His eyes flicked to the plaque on the wall beside it. _The Seeded Earth_. 1942. Oil on canvas. Masson, Andre. b. 1896, d. 1987. He looked at the painting again. He still didn't know what it was, but he couldn't see anything resembling a seed in it, and he certainly couldn't see the earth. It was a collision of color, and he idly wondered if anything had survived the apparent crash. He moved on.

The next painting was as unlikely as the first, but it, at least, had some recognizable elements to it. Well, one recognizable element. A lime. He looked at the plaque, and saw the same name as before—Andre Masson. The… Severus looked critically at the painting again and hesitated to call the man an artist. This one was called _Woman from Martinique_. He took a step back and looked at the painting again and was startled to realize that the lime was the woman's nose. And he could see something that he could trick his mind into believing was a woman, but… He tilted his head to one side and stared at it, idly wondering what this Andre Masson would select to represent _his_ nose. He rubbed the appendage in question somewhat thoughtfully and then shook his head and moved on.

He walked slowly, staring at each painting, and he felt that his own face was taking on the perplexed expression that so many others wore. He was standing in front of a large painting that was quite recognizable if no less nonsensical. It was, he had decided, a train emerging from a fireplace. It was illogical, and impossible, but that was what it was. _Time transfixed_. The clock painted onto the mantle said it was a quarter till one, and Severus wondered if that held some sort of clue to the meaning behind the painting. Surely, whoever had painted this (and another glance at the plaque named the painter as a Rene Magritte) would have had a reason for such an odd painting. There was something about it that made him uncomfortable. One of the candlesticks didn't have a reflection in the mirror, and at first he'd thought it a trick of perspective, but after looking it over thought it was likely an oversight on the part of the… he still hesitated to call these people artists. Frowning, he turned away from it and jumped as he nearly ran into a woman with red hair and green eyes.

"I thought I might find you here," she said, sounding almost like Sybill with that faraway voice. She looked familiar.

"I don't see how you could, considering I never knew I'd be here."

She shrugged. "Call it instinct, then."

Willow. Autumn had said she had an uncanny ability to predict things. Instinctively, Severus closed his mind and shrugged slightly, moving on to the next painting. The next painting was a rose growing from the stem of a pear. Only he couldn't tell where the rose ended and the pear began and it wasn't really a painting. The plaque on the wall gave the unimaginative title _Rose and Pear. The means of existence._ Rene Magritte again. He frowned at it.

"Odd, I wouldn't have pegged you for liking surrealism," Willow commented, and he realized she was at his elbow.

"Surrealism?" he repeated. "I've no idea…" his frown deepened at the painting. It was raining in it, but the rain wasn't touching rose or pear. But the pear looked like it was in a field of liquid sand.

"Ah. You aren't a lover of it, just wandered in here. Pity."

He looked at Willow, then at the painting, then back at Willow. "Does that mean something to you?" he asked, frowning even deeper.

"The world," she replied with a slight smile. "The earth and sky and rain, food and beauty. What more could one possibly want from life?"

He looked at the painting again. "I suppose," he replied, his tone indicating that he had his doubts. He moved to the next painting, wondering if Willow would follow. He thought he could use her help in understanding these images, but he wasn't going to ask for it.

The next painting was again not a painting, he realized as he studied it. Unless someone was very good at making paint look like torn paper. But, given what he'd seen so far, he wasn't going to rule that out. It was gray, with blue and white squares arranged on it. _Collage Arranged According to the Laws of Chance_. Jean Arp. He frowned at it. There was more blue than white, and it was somehow… pleasing to look at. Not as worrisome as that very first painting had been, but it was… uncomfortable still. It was messy. He kept staring at it, trying to make something out of it. Willow, he noticed, was still at his side, though quiet, and she was studying him as intently as he was studying the painting. He moved on.

There was another collage, and then two statues, and another collage, then he found himself in front of a painting that made him stare in disbelief. The images here were more concrete, easier to recognize, but no less unusual or discomforting. It was a chicken. He thought it was a chicken, at least for a moment, but no, it wasn't really. It had human hands and it was a top and after a moment of staring he couldn't see why he'd originally thought it was a chicken. It was utterly bizarre. And Willow was still staring at him, making him all the more aware that his expression was far from appreciative. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, then took a deep breath.

"Why are you here?" he asked pointedly.

"I came to talk to you," was her reply. Not a note of hesitation. How had she known… _Don't ask, Severus. Just don't even think about it._ He shook his head and went back to staring at the picture. "Do you understand it?" she asked, and he grimaced.

He momentarily considered retorting that of _course_ he understood it, but he couldn't bring the lie to his lips. Even _he_ wasn't _that_ good a liar. "No," he admitted. "Not at all."

She laughed slightly. "Hardly surprising," she commented, and he felt himself bristling. What was she implying? "Few people do," she answered as though he'd asked the question, and he emptied his mind a bit more, once again convinced that she was a Legilimens.

"What does it mean?" he asked, deciding to humor her, hoping to deflect her attention elsewhere.

She smiled brightly. "Not a damn thing," she replied.

"Excuse me?"

"It doesn't mean anything," she repeated.

Severus looked at the painting again. How could that possibly not mean _anything?_ "All art means something," he muttered, and moved on. The next painting was a woman, that much he _did_ comprehend, but he could not understand anything else. He couldn't even be sure he _knew_ anything else. She was naked, he thought, but with some frilly cloth spread across her like an apron. Or a loincloth. But her upper body… it was far from sensual or pornographic or even realistic, and he decided maybe she wasn't naked after all. And maybe that wasn't really her hair. And what on _earth_ kept her from toppling over?

"Most art means something," Willow granted. "And, on some level, this does too, but not in the way most art does."

"What?" He stared at her, perplexed. "I've had enough crypticism for one day, Willow. Please…"

She smiled and shrugged. "The surrealist movement was an effort to capture the images and fantasies of the mind. Like dream images. It's a unity between the psyche and the physical world," she explained, and he looked skeptical. "The images themselves are meaningless," she said, shaking her head. "You can stand there all day and try to figure out what the artist was 'saying', but you'll never work it out."

"I don't understand," Severus said, still frowning. "You mean it really doesn't _mean_ anything?"

Willow shook her head firmly, silky red hair sliding over her shoulders. "Nothing," she reiterated. "It just is. Like… like the air. Does the air _mean_ anything? Does the sky _mean_ anything?"

He looked at the painting again, trying to absorb the new knowledge. "You mean that I'm supposed to just _accept_ that… that… that _image_ as though it is the air or sky?" he asked incredulously.

Willow nodded. "It's a comment on the nature of reality," she offered. "And our perception of reality. The meaning of life, in some ways. How long have you been staring at half a dozen paintings, trying to make sense of them?" she asked softly. "And how many things in your life have you wasted inordinate amounts of time trying to make fit into your perceptions of reality? That is the secret of happy living, Severus. To _live_ and not worry about if you're doing it right."

He stared at her for a long moment, wondering what she knew.

"Have you seen the Dali yet?" she asked, and for a moment, he stared at the painting again, wondering if the woman pictured was, in fact, a doll. That would shed a different light on it. Willow answered herself, though, and extinguished the stray thought from his head. "Of course not," she was saying. "You haven't gotten that far yet. Come on, he's really the only one worth spending any time on that you haven't already seen. _Persistence of memory_, and then the _Weaning of Furniture_, and then why don't we go have a bite to eat? You can lose days staring at these paintings."

He followed her blindly as she led him past another dozen paintings, then stopped in front of one that made his breath catch. Clocks. Clocks melting in the desert. For the first time, he felt that he understood something in this art, but he didn't know what it was precisely. He didn't know, but it didn't matter, because he _did_ know, but couldn't explain it even to himself. He stared at the clocks, and he found himself wondering how long it would take before time melted away to nothing. Willow was tugging on his arm again, and he let her lead him to another painting, bypassing several others.

His frown returned as he stared at the image, not sure what to make of it at first. There were so many things in the painting that initially, at least, he didn't realize that the central figure was a person—a woman—with a hole in her body. He leaned forward to stare more closely at it.

"That one is a metaphor," Willow said, coming to stand close at his side. "The woman was Dali's nurse, and he associated her with his nightstand and bottle, so much so that he considered them to be a part of her, so he 'weaned' them from her, over there," Willow's long, delicate finger was pointing, redirecting Severus' eye. He found the nightstand, and then a smaller nightstand with a bottle atop it. "But, taking away such an integral part of who she was left a void, so he gave her a crutch to support her."

"That's horrible," Severus murmured. "He couldn't separate her from other things, so ripped part of her away to keep the other things in tact? Why couldn't he just let them be a part of her?"

Willow shrugged. "Why does anyone deny themselves or anyone else something crucial out of desire to keep another memory untainted?" she asked softly.

Severus' head turned sharply to Willow, but Willow was facing the painting again. _What_ did she know?

"Come on," she said, reaching for his hand. "Let's go have lunch. Come on." He let her pull him along after her, and they emerged into the brilliant light. She paused for a moment, and looked around then pointed. "This way," she said, and soon they were in a small café with menus in their hand. Indian food. Severus stared at the menu blankly for a long moment, then shook his head, looking at Willow.

"What's good?" he asked, and she laughed.

"I don't know, I've never been here. And I've never had Indian food, either; that's really more Autumn's thing."

"You haven't?" Severus frowned at the menu again. "Then why did you choose this place? We passed three pubs and…"

She shrugged. "It smelled good," she replied, and suddenly jabbed her finger at the menu. "That's what I'm having."

"What is it?" he asked, peering at her.

"I don't know," she replied with another grin. "But whatever it is, it's what I'm having."

He stared at her for a moment. "How do you know you'll like it if you don't know what it is?"

"I don't," she replied merrily. "But I'll never know if I don't try it. Now, what are you having?"

"I don't know," he replied, "but I'm going to look at the menu before I decide." A waitress chose that moment to come and take their drink orders, and his musings were interrupted as he ordered tea and Willow ordered a Coke. The waitress looked at her a bit oddly, but nodded and was off. Willow giggled.

"I guess that most people don't have Coke with their Sag Paneer," she pronounced the words carefully, and quite possibly incorrectly. Severus wasn't even going to pretend he knew. He wasn't going to pretend he knew what a Coke was, either.

After several more minutes of staring at the menu, he came to the conclusion that it might as well have been written in Japanese for all he knew what he was looking at. Obviously, whoever had written it expected patrons to be familiar enough with Indian food to not need more than cursory explanations. He sighed in resignation as the waitress came back, setting his tea cup in front of him and a glass of fizzing brown liquid in front of Willow.

"Are you ready to order?" the waitress asked, and Willow promptly pointed to the selection she'd made, and the waitress nodded. "And for you, sir?"

Ah, what the hell, he thought. He pointed randomly to something on the second page. "This one," he indicated, and the waitress nodded again.

"I'll have that out in a few minutes."

"Oh!" Willow said suddenly. "Can you add one more thing?"

The waitress raised an eyebrow, a gesture similar to Severus' expression, but nodded. Willow pointed to something else on the menu. "This, please."

The waitress looked a cross between amused and bewildered, but nodded and made her note, then tucked her pen behind her ear. "Anything else?"

Willow shook her head, and Severus shook his. When the waitress was gone, Severus studied his table partner. "Hungry?" he asked after a moment.

"Not particularly, no," she replied.

"Then why did you order a second dish?"

A flicker of doubt crossed Willow's face, and she shook her head. "Sometimes, I have a sense that something will happen. Usually it does. Often enough for me to trust it, at least. Regardless, though, I try to refrain from making an issue of it, in case these predictions don't come true."

"What are you talking about?"

"What did you think of Dali?" Willow asked, changing the subject abruptly.

"It was disturbing. What do you anticipate will happen?"

"Ah…" she began, then her eyes lit up and she smiled broadly, waving suddenly. Severus turned around in his seat to see where she was looking, and nearly sank under the table when his eyes landed on Autumn.

"Bloody hell," he hissed. "Did you do this on purpose?" he asked Willow, who was blinking wide-eyed at him.

Autumn had stopped in the middle of the door and was staring, as though having a hard time believing what she was seeing. Severus sank his head into his hand and wondered if a term in Azkaban for Disapparating in front of Muggles wouldn't be preferable to this.


	24. Like breathing

"Severus." It was a cool acknowledgement, but more than he'd really expected from her. Or perhaps more accurately, it was more than he _would_ have expected, had Willow not obviously had something to do with it. Severus did not believe in coincidence, and he did not believe that Willow had the 'Sight' as Sybill was so fond of claiming to have.

"Autumn," he answered, his voice steady as though he hadn't just walked away from her not four hours ago.

"Hrm, do I detect a bit of tension here?" Willow was frowning at the two of them, and Severus' head swiveled back to her.

"Do not try to convince me you didn't know…"

"I still don't know," Willow replied. "But there is enough conflict here to touch it, so why don't I take my coke and go over to another table so you two can work it out, whatever it is."

"There is nothing to work out," Autumn said, her voice tight.

For a long moment, Willow looked at Autumn, then at Severus. "I think there's a great deal to work out. Or, barring that, to talk about. Severus, why don't you tell her about the Dali exhibit? I'm sure she'd be thrilled."

Willow walked away, leaving Autumn standing and Severus sitting and neither of them entirely sure if they wanted to talk or not. The waitress, with her impeccable timing, returned just then to ask if Autumn was joining them.

"I'll just have a cup of tea," Autumn replied, and finally sat in the booth across from Severus, her hands folded in her lap.

He stared at her, but it wasn't Autumn he was seeing. It was a woman sitting on a seashore with a hole where her stomach should have been, a crutch supporting her, a night table with a bottle atop it sitting to one side. "Can you possibly forgive me?" he asked softly, still staring past her, as though the hole was in her body.

She sighed softly. "Of course I can forgive you, Severus," she replied softly. "I can even understand. But it doesn't make it any easier to accept it."

He shook his head and blinked, bringing her face into focus. "And if I ask you not to accept it?" he asked softly.

"What do you mean?"

He frowned slightly, and the setting seemed to shift. He wasn't in a small café in Muggle London anymore, but in his rooms. It wasn't Autumn who was sitting in front of him, it was Aislinn.

"I suppose," his words rang in his own ears, "that I'm unsure what you want from me…"

"God help me, Severus," Aislinn whispered into the air, staring at the fire, "I'm not sure I know what I want from you either."

Autumn was back again and he lowered his head into his hand. "I don't know what I'm saying," he replied softly. "I don't know what I was saying this morning, and I don't know if I meant any of it. But it's too soon, Autumn. It's too soon. Half the time I can't differentiate between my memories of her and what is real, and…" He looked up at her, his eyes full of pain. "I don't want to drive you away," he said softly. "I don't want to lose you. But I don't want…"

"You don't want me to replace Aislinn."

He nodded mutely. For a long minute, Autumn was quiet as well, and then she spoke again, her voice low. "I don't want to replace her," she whispered. "I don't want to be a poor imitation of someone who isn't there anymore. I want…" she swallowed hard. "I want you to want me for who I am. Is that even possible?"

"Quite," he answered promptly. "But I don't know if it's possible today. Or tomorrow."

She scooted out from her seat and moved around the table, giving him a tiny shove. He obligingly scooted, and she settled in beside him. "Can we still be friends while you heal?" she asked.

He closed his eyes. "I'd be heartbroken if we couldn't," he replied softly.

"Can we be friends who are intimate enough that it's excusable if I hug you?"

He opened his eyes and looked at her, his gaze grazing the top of her head. "Of course," he murmured, lifting his arm so she could settle against him. He leaned his cheek against the top of her head, and she cuddled closer, and he felt a peace drifting over him.

"Ah, yes, I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I think our lunch will be here soon so I'm just going to…" Willow was back, sitting again, and Severus started to straighten, but the red-head waved her hands at him. "No, no, no, don't move on my account. You two just look too comfy for words right now. See, you just needed a few minutes to talk it out, and since it didn't take long, there was nothing really _wrong,_ just a misunderstanding. Right? And look, that's our lunch."

Severus glanced towards the kitchen, and the door was just opening, and sure enough, it was their waitress who was emerging, three plates and a cup of tea on her tray. Willow took charge of directing the food around, and Autumn just shook her head as a plate of something spicy-smelling was placed in front of her. "Some day, you're going to have to explain to me just how you do that, Willow," Autumn said, her voice carrying a bit of a laugh.

"What's to explain? It's just like breathing. You know," she was talking with her mouth full, which normally irritated Severus to no end, but somehow it didn't seem to matter to him just then, "this is really good."

Severus spent a moment digging around on his plate, trying to identify what was there. Rice, certainly, and tomatoes. And… he looked carefully at something and decided it was chicken. And raisins?

"Just eat it," Autumn advised. "It's probably a combination that will sound excessively strange to you if you're not used to Indian food, but I guarantee that it tastes as wonderful as it smells."

He raised an eyebrow, but took her advice, plunging his fork into the mess on his plate and then taking a bite, unmindful of what was in it. "Mmm. That _is_ good."

hr 

"Mrowr?"

Severus opened his eyes as something small landed suddenly on his chest, poking a cold, wet nose against his chin.

"What?" he asked, mockingly irritated but really quite enamoured of his newfound friend. It had taken a fair bit of convincing from Autumn to get him to take the cat, and, in the end, it hadn't even been Autumn who convinced him. It had been Kitty (which Severus had decided was as good a name as any for the feline. He couldn't imagine the kitten with a more serious name, somehow) who finally convinced him. Severus had been sitting on Autumn's sofa, and suddenly the feline was in his lap, standing on his hind legs, paws braced on either side of Severus' chest. Autumn had said he was hugging him.

Kitty had been steadily growing on him for the last several hours, it seemed, and Severus was slowly warming to the idea of the tiny black monster forever curling up against him. The kitten couldn't seem to get close enough half the time, and, after several hours of fighting with the thing for possession of his lap, Severus had given in and allowed him to curl up into a purring bundle of sleek black fur. He found that the feline was content to be petted absently while Severus was absorbed in a book. He was really quite affectionate, and demanding of affection, but lazily content with minimal effort on Severus' part.

Provided Severus acknowledged him. Which, obviously, he wasn't at the moment.

"Mrowr."

"Won't you let me sleep for just a couple of hours?" he asked softly, and the kitten blinked at him, then settled onto his chest, washing his face and staring. It was rather unnerving, the way a cat stared. Severus yawned and closed his eyes again, and a moment later had a cold, wet nose on his chin once more. "What?" he repeated, opening his eyes.

"Mrowr."

"Are you hungry?" Severus asked, not even thinking about what it said about his sanity that he was having a conversation with a cat in the middle of the afternoon. He picked up the kitten, moving him to the mattress beside him, and turned over, looking at the food bowl. "No, you have food. You have water. Your litter box can't possibly be dirty yet. What do you want?"

Kitty sat on the mattress, tail flicking occasionally, blinking at him. "Mrowr."

"I know. You just don't want me to go to sleep. That's it, isn't it? Well, too bad." Severus turned onto his stomach and settled his head into the pillow, and closed his eyes again. A moment later, he felt the kitten climbing onto his back and begin kneading at his shoulders. Yawning, Severus murmured, "You just keep doing that." Slowly, he drifted to sleep amidst the sound of the kitten's purring and the soft massage.

hr 

"A kitten? Somehow, I don't see you taking care of a kitten."

Severus shook his head. "I didn't either," he replied. "But Autumn and Kitty seemed to have other ideas."

"Kitty. You actually named it Kitty?"

His face beginning to darken into a half-embarrassed, half-defensive scowl, Severus sighed. "I had nothing to do with the name. That's what Autumn has been calling him, and… well…" he shrugged, a little uncomfortable. "I had thought to rename him, but nothing I could think of seemed to suit him. He's… he's too small and… cuddly… for any name I'd choose, and Kitty is as ridiculous as anything else."

Lupin laughed softly. "Do you like him?"

Severus looked down at his lap and the purring mass of fur curled up against his stomach. "I think he's growing on me," he said softly, scratching the kitten's ear. He'd been back at headquarters less than an hour, and had really intended to spend what remained of the evening upstairs, packing up his belongings. He was returning to Hogwarts tomorrow, after all, and he hadn't so much as folded a sock yet.

He really hadn't intended to be gone so long this afternoon, but somehow the late lunch had been followed by a meandering walk through a park, followed by a dance to the music of street musicians, then a couple of hours browsing through a market, and finally watching the sun set from a hillside, the brilliant orange sphere sinking below the tops of the buildings. He hadn't intended to spend all day with Autumn, and certainly not alone, but Willow had excused herself from them shortly after lunch, and he'd been reluctant to leave the petite woman's company.

She'd also talked him into taking the cat. Or, rather, the cat had convinced him. It was extraordinarily difficult to ignore the soft purring and playful scampering of the kitten, and, when Severus had seated himself on the sofa at Autumn's flat and the kitten had stood on his hind legs in his lap, forepaws resting on Severus' shoulders, that had been the end of his arguments. The kitten had claimed him, it seemed, and Severus had no real desire to protest.

"Maybe he'll be good for you," Remus suggested.

Severus snorted softly. "Now you're beginning to sound like Autumn."

* * *

A/N: I'm really not happy with this chapter at all, and it is on my list for major revision at a later date. For now, though, it was just holding up progress

Thank you all for your reviews!


	25. Welcome Back Professor Snape

_Severus,_

_I took the liberty of leaving these letters on your desk. I thought you would want them, but I did not want you to be buried under them while you were on your vacation. _

_Your classes were a delight, very knowledgeable and well-behaved. We covered the chapters you indicated, and the essays you requested are sorted by House and Year on the sideboard. The NEWT students have been doing independent studies, as well. I hope you don't mind, but they seemed particularly offended by the essay you had left for them, and, when three of them pulled out the same essay that they'd already written three weeks ago, I gave them the benefit of the doubt, but told them they were to choose an independent study that they felt would satisfy you. I believe a few of them did the assigned essay rather than chance your anger, but most of them found other topics of interest. All of your classes should have their essays ready to hand in the first time they see you this week, and I would take no excuses from them._

_Minerva spoke with the Slytherins twice this week, and both times insisted that they were polite and respectful to her. We have had no particular problems with your House in your absence. The Quidditch team seemed particularly concerned that you would return in time for the game on Tuesday, so perhaps you would care to assure them that you have, indeed, returned in time for it._

_A number of the students have inquired as to your whereabouts these past few days, and the staff's official answer has been that you were feeling under the weather and if the students wanted more detail, they needed to address their concerns with you. As for the staff, Poppy, Minerva and I remain the only ones who know where you have been; the others were told only that you had personal business to attend. Whatever version of the truth you wish to spread as a rumor, we will support it._

_Amber Carlisle has been particularly concerned about you. Minerva said that the girl came to her twice to ask when you would be back, and she also asked me three times. Perhaps it would be thoughtful for you to let her see that you are alive and well. I fear she has developed a phobia of losing people, and it would set her mind to ease to know that you are back and in good health._

_There is, as always, more business, but nothing pressing. I thought we would postpone our weekly meeting, or perhaps cancel it all together, as it seems pointless to ask you if there is anything new you wish to report the day you return from your time away. The Tuesday evening staff meeting has been rescheduled to Thursday morning to accommodate the Quidditch game._

_If there is anything you need, please do not hesitate to ask. _

_Welcome back, my boy._

_Dumbledore._

Severus shook his head slightly and folded the parchment in half, dropping it in the drawer of his desk to read again tomorrow morning. It was just past five in the evening, and he had no more than Flooed into his office before he was assaulted with the primary reason he did not shirk his teaching duties for personal reasons—his desk looked as though a parchment production factory had exploded atop it.

The letter from Dumbledore had been on top of the most central pile, and had caught his eye immediately, but now his gaze swept the other stacks and he couldn't help but sigh. He had no less than three essays to mark for damn near every student in the school, and that wasn't counting the ones he'd be collecting this week. He had _never_ been so far behind on marking papers, and, much as he hated the idea, he thought that the Quidditch game on Tuesday might just have to be sacrificed so he could get caught up.

He picked up a stack of scrolls and peered at the note affixed to them—First Year essays on the properties of moonstone. He let them fall again and peered at another stack—Second Year essays on the properties of wormwood. Fifth Year essays on the reactive properties of witch-hazel and willow bark. Second Year essays on the stages of liquid. Fourth Year essays on the measures of viscosity. Fifth Year essays on the catalytic properties of powdered ginger root.

"Maybe the next essay will be on the benefit of writing essays," he muttered to himself, trying to move the scrolls into stacks that made more sense. After a moment, he decided it was an exercise in futility, and one which might be helped by a measure of brandy. Pouring himself a generous snifter, he settled into his chair and then looked over the mountain of parchment that concealed his desk, trying to decide on a plan of attack for the mess.

However his mind was set to reducing the parchment, though, his eyes kept sliding back to a stack of folded pages on one corner, tightly bundled with string. He knew what they were—letters from his students—and part of him wanted nothing more than to open them and to gorge himself on the knowledge that some of his students cared. It was odd how important that seemed to him suddenly, and not something he would have ever expected or believed, but it was the truth. Seeing that stack of parchment lightened his heart more than he cared to admit.

With a sigh, he pointedly ignored the pages and stood again, studying the room. He needed some sort of organization here. Brandy still in his left hand, he took out his wand and pointed it at a stack of scrolls, directing them to a shelf. First Year scrolls, then Second Year, then Third and so forth until two and a half shelves were filled with the essays he needed to be marking. There were probably close to two thousand of them. Miserable.

"And none of them are going to mark themselves," he chastised himself firmly, picking up a stack of a dozen or so and moving back to his desk. Once more, the stack of parchment was tempting, but he picked it up and dropped it into a drawer so it was no longer just sitting there, begging to be read. He removed his grading ledger from his desk, and a bottle of red ink, unrolled the first scroll and readied his quill as he began to peruse the parchment. He made small checks as he found the points he was looking for on the scroll, and then, after he'd read it twice, he scrawled an 'A' onto the upper left corner with a note at the bottom to pay more attention to grammar and to take care with word choice. He recorded the grade, and moved on. By the time he reached the tenth essay, he was wishing he had a stamp with 'pay more attention to grammar' on it, because every single scroll was riddled with errors. He hadn't the time to teach them to write properly, and wished it was a given that they already knew.

Marking the First Year essays went fairly quickly, at least, as they were shorter and simpler than the older students' essays would be. Four or five paragraphs, and there were four or five points he was looking for, and a certain level of overall finesse. Most of the students passed these essays, and a few even scored Excellent marks. Only two First Years scored Outstanding, and, unsurprisingly, both were Ravenclaws. He'd cringed slightly as he penned a 'D' onto Amber's scroll, but it couldn't be helped—he'd swear she hadn't even read the chapter. At least there were no 'T's this time around.

The second set of First Year essays were equally straight-forward, and, even though he knew that the more advanced students' essays would take longer to grade, Severus felt a sense of accomplishment as, three hours after he had begun his marking he entered the last of the First Years' grades into his ledger and reached for the Second Year scrolls. They did well enough with the properties of wormwood, having had almost two full years now to work out what he was looking for when he asked for the properties of a substance (which was to say that he was less interested in what color ginger root was than he was in the effect it had on potions) and, to his pleasure, he found that no one scored lower than an 'A' on the essays. He even had half a dozen or so that scored 'O's, one of which was a Slytherin, which was enough to make his lips curve into a smile.

The essays on the stages of a liquid were far less impressive, and, after marking the twelfth 'D', he reached for his class notes and made a memo to himself to go over that again. It was not a difficult concept, and he detested having to waste time re-teaching something, but if his Second Year students could not consistently explain the difference between a steam and a vapor, he had his doubts that they would succeed in any of their Third Year potions. It was half past eleven when Severus finally marked the last of those scrolls, frowning at the results. There had been one 'E', and more than half of them were D's. That class was going to hear about his displeasure... tomorrow morning. He had Second Year students in his first lecture on Monday mornings.

His eyes strayed to the clock, then to the shelf of parchment, and he found himself wondering how many of those Third Year essays he could grade before midnight. It would make him feel better, at least, to begin them, and he wasn't really ready to go to bed yet, though he knew he would force himself to in another half hour. Half an hour wasn't really time to grade more than three or four of them, though, which wasn't even worth dragging them out. With a sigh, he capped his ink bottle and dropped it back in his desk, and his eyes strayed to the bundle of letters he'd successfully hidden from himself in his drawer. Another glance at the clock, and he picked up the bundle, picking off the string, and flipping the first one open. They were largely the same as all of them had been so far, but once again, he found his mood lightening as he read the evidence that his students cared.

He was halfway through the stack when he found one that was different. Very different. As he read it, he felt his heart clench, and he closed his eyes, fighting a wave of nausea as he thought about those letters, and how he'd enjoyed them. And the ones he'd answered.

_Fool_, he thought bitterly, staring blankly at the parchment. _Fool to play into their hands._ He spent a long moment considering what to do with the parchment. He considered sending it to Dumbledore. He considered a scathing reply. He even momentarily considered simply ignoring it, but he knew that that was probably the least feasible option he had. Finally, he decided to do nothing with it, and he stood abruptly, the entire stack of parchment in his hand, opened and unopened letters alike, then stalked over to the fireplace and tossed them in. And, after a moment's hesitation, he stalked back to the desk, jerked open the drawer and brought out the bundle he'd had while at headquarters. Those, too, went into the fireplace.

"_Incendio_," he muttered, pointing his wand at the pile of parchment, and watching as the flames leaped and licked at the pages, curling them one by one into ash. His eyes lingered on the one that had left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_The only reason I'm writing is because McGonagall told us she'd give us extra credit if we wrote you get well letters, and I need the extra marks from her. I still don't like you, and if you have a cold, I hope you sneeze your nose off. It would be an improvement._

_Your loving student who doesn't love you enough to tell you who to give the detention to._

hr 

"You have wasted enough time in this class in the past week, so cease your talking and open your texts to page 53." Severus did not even wait until all the students had filed in before he began issuing instructions, and the doors to the dungeon shut with an air of finality behind the last of the students, narrowly missing catching the girl's robe. "If there is one of you who is capable of reading, I suggest you begin reading aloud at the second paragraph, as we are embarking today on a bit of remedial vocabulary work. I was most disappointed in the essays you all handed in last week, and, after I assure myself that literacy is not the issue, you will all be redoing that assignment in detention on Wednesday evening." He was leaning against his desk, his arms folded as the students exchanged looks of varying degrees of fear and disbelief while flipping to their pages. "Well?" he snarled. "Why is no one reading yet?"

There was a slight shuffle, and then a small voice in the back began to speak. "In order to understand the potion-making process, it is critical to comprehend the nature of a mixture. There are four general classes of matter-- solid, liquid, gaseous and plasma. The plasma stage will not be discussed in this text beyond a brief definition, as it applies only to very advanced potions..." Severus watched the girl read, his eyes never wavering from her face, his own copy of the text open on the desk behind him, ignored. "...liquid takes seven forms, and..."

"Stop, Miss Bernard. Read that sentence again, please." His voice was cold and unyielding, and despite the formality of his request, there was not a student who would dare doubt it was an order. The girl cleared her throat softly.

"Liquid takes seven forms," she repeated.

"Liquid takes seven forms," Severus repeated softly. "Tell me, Miss Bernard, how many forms of liquid did you define in your essay?"

She licked her lips, and looked at the table. "Three," she answered.

"Three," he repeated. "And why did you choose to only define three when the text plainly states that there are seven?"

"I... I don't know, sir."

A snickering from the Gryffindor side of the room brought his attention around and he narrowed his eyes at the offender. "Do you find something amusing, Mr. Overton? How many forms of liquid did you define in your essay?"

The boy's face suddenly paled. "I don't know, sir," he replied softly.

"Four, Mr. Overton. You chose to define four. And you, Mr., Fitzhugh? How many did you define?"

Had any of the students not been so frightened of their potions master, some of them may have marveled that he was capable of telling each one of them how many forms of liquid they'd defined. It was, after all, no small feat to keep up with that many students' writings, but Severus had the kind of mind that remembered details like that. He might not know them all by sight when they were not in their seats, and he might not be able to come up with first names on cue, but Severus could recite any of their marks, and any of their errors on the last homework he'd assigned. And he could recite entire pages of the text, knew on which pages what information was given, knew which paragraphs began the information. He was an exacting teacher, and in possession of a mind that some of his Muggle-born students might have likened to a computer. None of them, though, could see very far beyond the sharp remarks and biting comments.

"Anyone who did not define a minimum of five forms of liquid did not pass this assignment," he announced quietly. "It is unlikely that anyone who did not define at least six managed a passing grade."

A whisper in the front left corner of the room caught his attention, though his eyes were still on the back right. "Since you find this worthy of comment, Miss Carringsen, why don't you enlighten us? Read the fourth paragraph." He had finished speaking before he turned his gaze to her, and she held the wide-eyed, disbelieving expression of a student who was certain that her teacher had just read her mind somehow.

She cleared her throat softly. "Steam is the most highly energized form that can still be referred to as liquid. A steam is the result of heated particles of liquid condensing in the air. The visible portion of steam is the liquid portion of it; the gaseous portion is invisible. The second form of liquid, vapor, is similar to steam in that it is a semi-gas, but where a steam has been heated past boiling point, a vapor is a reaction which causes a cloud of gas, which then condenses in the air. Again, the visible portion of the vapor is the liquid portion, and the invisible portion the gaseous."

"Stop." Severus paced slowly across the front of the classroom, his eyes landing on each student's face in turn. After a long silence, he spoke very softly. "Is there a difference between steam and vapor, then?" he asked, and his eyes settled on a Slytherin, who stared, wide-eyed back at him. "Based on the passage Miss Carringsen just read for us, is there a difference between a steam and a vapor?" A few heads were nodding uncertainly, and Severus picked one at random. "Mr. Mallory, will you please explain to us the difference between a steam and a vapor?"

Mallory swallowed hard and his voice was anything but confident. "A steam is the liquid portion of a gas," he offered, "and a vapor is the gas portion of a liquid..."

Severus stopped suddenly, his lips moving as he silently repeated what Mallory had said. The liquid portion of a gas? "What is a liquid, Mr. Mallory?"

"I..." the student looked as though he wished he could simply sink through the floor.

"Very well. What is a gas?"

There was utter silence. Severus sighed heavily. "I think perhaps that I was mistaken in thinking that this class had mastered the material from First Year potions," he told them scathingly. "But that is a situation I can rectify. All of you, take out your quills, and you will spend the remainder of class composing an essay for me, detailing the forms of matter with a special emphasis on identifying them from one another. I think thirty inches will suffice," he told them. "And all of you will report to this classroom on Wednesday at seven o'clock, as we will begin a tutorial session for those of you who have not satisfied me that you have mastered this concept. Begin your work, silently! Thirty inches. Are there any questions?" After a momentary pause, one hand came up in the back row, and Severus raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Miss Nethrey?"

She cleared her throat softly. "Are you feeling better, Professor?" she asked softly.

Had he not read that note from one of his students explaining the reason he'd been getting letters of concern from them, he might have been touched. "Your concern is appreciated, Miss Nethrey, but unnecessary. I feel fine, thank you. Thirty inches."


	26. Lessons learned

The day wore on at a painfully slow pace, but nothing untoward happened. In fact, Severus didn't think anyone could have found anything the slightest out of the ordinary about his actions. He had been his normal scathing, biting, controlled self, and if his students had gotten on his nerves, there had been nothing to indicate it. And they had. Every single class he had, _someone_ had seen fit to ask him if he was feeling better. And his answers had become more scathing as the day wore on, but other than that, nothing even tempted him to lose control of his temper.

Now, it was dinner time, and if he wasn't in the Great Hall, at least he had an excuse, and it was one that even Dumbledore and Poppy acknowledged—he had a bloody lot of scrolls to grade, and they were quickly reaching the point of 'unmanageable'. He was going to be glad when the week was over, and the essays quit coming in.

The only balm to his irritation was that Kitty was curled up on his desk, purring as he slept, and every time Severus glanced at the cat, he couldn't help but shake his head and smile. He'd argued with the feline for about half an hour, picking up the kitten and putting him on the floor again, but it never lasted long before Kitty was on the desk once more. Finally, Severus had given up, and Kitty had curled up to nap. Idly, he reached out a hand and stroked the kitten's throat, earning a shuddering purr for his trouble.

He turned his attention back to the scrolls he was grading—Sixth Year NEWT class now—and reabsorbed himself in the essay in front of him. Those independent studies were actually going a fair distance towards making him feel better about the entire situation; it wasn't as bloody boring to grade twenty _different_ essays as it was to mark twenty of the _same_. And, it did pique his interest slightly to see what the students had chosen to study. The scroll in his hand was a study of the effects of the lunar cycle on healing potions. Much of it was speculatively, though well-documented, and while Severus didn't buy three points in ten that the student had made, he couldn't help being impressed at the logic used to reach those conclusions. It almost made him wish he had the time to pull this Hufflepuff aside and speak with her at length.

A timid knock on his door brought his eyes up from the scrolls and he regarded the portal sternly. "Come." After a second's hesitation, the door opened and a small, dark-haired head peeked inside. "Yes?" he asked, his voice a little colder and more distant than was probably strictly necessary with Amber.

"Professor Snape," she whispered, slipping inside and closing the door behind her, her eyes wide. "I heard you were back," she said softly, "and I just wanted to see if you were feeling better."

For a moment, he had the most ridiculous impulse to ask if Professor McGonagall had offered extra credit for this as well, but he resisted the urge. "I am, thank you. Did you come all the way down here just to inquire about my health?"

She was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Yes," she replied, sounding unsure.

He just stared at her for a minute, then put aside the scroll he'd been marking and gestured at the other chair beside his desk. A chair that was there because Potter would be here in half an hour to continue his Occlumency lessons, but for the moment was vacant.

"How are you, Miss Carlisle?" he asked, reminding himself that whatever the other students may or may not do or say, Amber was a special case. He hoped.

She sat, looking frightened again, and he was reminded of the night in the Slytherin Common Room when she had been so afraid of him. "I'm okay," she replied softly, still watching him warily. After another moment, Severus sighed.

"Is something the matter?" he asked, and she bit her lip. "Do I need to write you a pass somewhere? To the library? To Madame Pomfrey?"

Amber's face turned red, but she shook her head. "No," she whispered; a painful-sounding whisper.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, beginning to lose a little of his patience. Why wouldn't she make this a little easier and just _tell_ him what was wrong?

She shook her head. "No," she whispered, sounding pained once more.

"Are you ill?"

"No."

"Is someone mistreating you?"

"No."

He was running out of ideas. "Is there something you wished to talk to me about?"

Silence. He met her silence with silence of his own, but after a long pause, he became acutely aware that he hadn't the time to outwait her. With a sigh, he moved his chair so he was facing her, and regarded her levelly.

"Are you going to tell me what is wrong, or am I going to have to play twenty questions, Miss Carlisle?" he asked. "I haven't the time for games, but if you've something to say, I will listen."

Her eyes grew bright. _Bloody…_ he grimaced and opened his desk drawer, pulling out a handkerchief and offering it to the girl just as a tear slipped down her cheek. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Not at all," he replied, hoping she would say whatever it was she'd come to say.

She brushed the tear away with her hand and sat there, knotting the handkerchief between her fingers for several minutes, and the seconds ticked by, Severus vowing patience but feeling his conviction slowly slipping. He hadn't the _time_ for nonsense. At least, though, she wasn't crying.

"Miss Carlisle?" he prompted once more, keeping the irritation from his voice, but only just. She looked up at him, her lower lip wavering, and he sighed deeply, then stood. Two steps carried him to her side, and he knelt at her knee, his hands braced on the arms of the chair. "I cannot help you if you won't tell me what's wrong," he told her, as gently as he knew how, though he was aware that his gentle still fell well short of certain other people's harsh. He had half a mind to send the girl to Pomfrey or Sprout or one of the other dozen or so women in the school who were much more adept at such things than he was. _Why_ did she keep coming to him?

Amber nodded, and took a deep breath, visibly steeling herself. Severus hoped his own steeling was somewhat less obvious. "It's my mother," she whispered, and Severus frowned. Why was she telling him about her mother? "She's going to take me out of Hogwarts," Amber quivered. "She wants me to go to Beauxbatons next term. She says…" there were tears flowing freely down her face this time, and Severus reached for her hands, gently disentangling the linen from her fingers, and pressed it against her cheek. "Thank you."

"What does your mother say?" Severus asked, trying his best to be patient but finding it difficult.

"She says she won't have me staying here under a Muggle-loving Headmaster and that Hogwarts isn't worth the classification as a school of wizardry and witchcraft when most of the students here are Mudbloods and…"

Severus exhaled slowly, and then stood, taking Amber's hands in his own and pulling her up. "Why don't you write your mother, and invite her to talk to me. As head of Slytherin, I might be able to change her mind." He was sure he'd be able to, actually. He'd changed many a concerned parent's mind regarding the suitability of Hogwarts, including some who were likely far more prejudiced than the Carlisles. He couldn't imagine anyone being worse than the Malfoys about such drivel.

"Really?" He glanced down at her again, and his heart suddenly made its presence known again, clenching unaccustomedly in his chest at the look of adoration in her eyes. He'd seen students look adoringly at Hagrid, or at Dumbledore, or even at McGonagall. And some even at that charlatan Trelawney, but he'd never had a student look at him with such frank reverence. It made him marginally uncomfortable.

"Really," he replied, placing a hand on either of her shoulders and steering her to stand in front of his desk. "Now, I think it's time you met someone. I'm writing you a pass to the library, Miss Carlisle, and I wish you to make a study of the relevance of organic vs. inorganic materials in potion-making. You will find a number of books in the section on magical plants; and I expect it will take you at least an hour of studying there. And you may write your mother that I will be more than happy to talk with her, that she only need let me know ahead of time." As he spoke, he scrawled a note on a slip of parchment, and then offered it to her. "The section on magical plants, Miss Carlisle," he repeated. "And if you are having a difficult time finding the books, you might ask one of your older classmates."

Amber nodded hesitantly, and then whispered, "Thank you, Professor Snape."

"Of course," he replied, standing again and placing a hand on her back, ushering her towards the door.

"You know," she said softly, "I'm glad I'm a Slytherin now."

"Really?" he asked, perplexed. "Why is that?"

"Because if I were anything else, you wouldn't be the Head of my House." She grinned and all but ran out the door, leaving him to stare, bewildered, after her. Females, he decided, were a mystery at any age. Shaking his head, he turned back into his office and seated himself, finishing marking the scroll he'd been reading, and then adding it to the small stack he'd finished. A stack which contained, among others, a scroll on the necessary balance of organic and inorganic ingredients in Healing potions, written by one Hermione Granger, whom he strongly suspected was in the library at that very moment researching the next portion of her essay.

* * *

There was a knock on his door and Severus looked up from the scroll he'd been marking. "Enter," he called, wiping his quill and replacing the lid on his bottle of ink. The door swung open, and in stepped Harry Potter, and Severus fought one of his customary waves of nausea at the thought of an hour with the miserable little prat. Why wouldn't Potter just _learn_ these lessons and be done with it? It would make everyone's life so much easier.

"Well, have a seat, Mr. Potter," Severus said, gesturing to the chair by his desk as he stood and walked over to the cabinet. He touched his wand to his head, removing a silvery strand of a memory and depositing it, swirling, into the borrowed pensieve. "Have you been practicing?" he asked in a soft, neutral tone, casting an obsidian eye to his pupil.

"Yes sir," Potter replied, sounding as he always did at first—determined to behave and to make this as inoffensive as possible.

Severus deposited the last of his most painful memories into the bowl and closed the cabinet door, then seated himself in front of Harry. "Well, then, let's see how you've done. _Legilimens_."

He plunged immediately into Harry's mind and watched the boy's face carefully as he began to sift through the layers of memories. Harry was lying in a bed in the hospital wing, his friends telling him that Hufflepuff had won the Quidditch match. He was staring at his empty cauldron, a cauldron from which Professor Snape had just vanished his potion. He was staring down a corridor in the Department of Mysteries. Severus sighed. "_Finite_," he recited, almost boredly. "Are you even trying, Mr. Potter?"

"I wasn't ready," Potter retorted peevishly, and Severus snorted.

"Do you think the Dark Lord would give you warning? You must always be ready, Potter. Now, let's try again, and this time, just to satisfy my own doubts that you're even making an effort, I want you to keep me away from any memories involving the Headmaster. _Legilimens_."

Harry was carrying on a conversation with a snake in a zoo, the rest of the world seemingly oblivious to the boy's presence. He was staring at a cake with uneven lettering on it. He was opening his Hogwarts letter, reading the invitation to school. He was sitting under the Sorting Hat. He was listening to Dumbledore's opening speech his First Year. "_Finite_," Severus sighed. "You cannot tell me you did not see that coming, Mr. Potter. Why did you not stop me when I saw the Hogwarts letter?"

A scowl crossed Harry's face. "I don't know, _sir_," he spat, and Severus shook his head.

"Then I suggest you figure it out," he said evenly. "Try that again. Keep me from any memory involving the Headmaster. _Legilimens_." Harry was sitting in the Great Hall, Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, their heads bent together and speculating about their Charms Final. Severus directed his attention to the staff table, but Harry deflected the memory away from Dumbledore and settled it on Flitwick instead, and then turned him to a scene of the tiny professor decorating a Christmas tree. "Much better," Severus murmured, allowing himself to be directed away from the Great Hall.

Harry was a child again, sitting on the bottom stair in a tastefully decorated house, watching as three others opened Christmas gifts, an unwrapped box at his feet. There was a set of shoelaces in the box. Severus lingered, watching as Harry picked one up, sliding it through his fingers, tears running down his cheeks. Severus turned his attention to what Harry's cousin was opening; an odd-looking box that obviously meant more to Harry than it did to the wizard who'd never seen anything with so many buttons on it. In the present, Severus watched Harry's face, and noted almost distantly that the boy was blinking rapidly. "If you don't want me to see it," Severus said softly, "turn me away."

The scene flickered, and Harry was painting the trim on a house. He was bringing lemonade to a woman and a man. He was staring at a photo of his parents dancing. He was dancing with Pavarti Patil at the Yule ball. He was sitting at the table with the staff on Christmas his Third Year. Severus saw himself and Dumbledore open a cracker, but the image disappeared almost as soon as it had formed, well before the vile vulture-topped hat appeared. Harry was opening Christmas gifts while Ron watched. Harry was opening Christmas cards. He was opening birthday cards. He was writing birthday cards. He was writing a letter that began "Dear Professor Snape." Severus stopped abruptly. "Better," he commented, and stood, walking briskly to the sideboard and retrieving a tea cup, then, almost as an afterthought, looked over his shoulder at his student. "Do you want tea, Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked suspiciously at him for a moment, then shook his head. "No sir," he replied, and Severus nodded, filing his cup with water and then touching his wand to it to heat it. He dropped a bag in it and moved back to his chair.

"Very well. Again. _Legilimens._" Harry was sharing tea with Lupin and Severus came in with a goblet of Wolfsbane potion. After Severus was gone, Harry frantically warned Lupin that he, Snape, would do 'anything' for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, to which Lupin merely smiled and drank the potion. Harry was in the astronomy tower with Lupin, facing a dementor. Harry was on the shore of the lake, trying desperately to fend dementors away from Black. The Harry in the chair beside Snape's desk had a longing look on his face, and suddenly, Severus found himself watching as the perspective shifted, and Harry was across the lake, forming the Patronus which had so impressed Severus. Harry was leading a Hippogriff to the cell where Black was being held. "_Finite_."

Severus stirred his tea thoughtfully for a moment, and took a sip before he spoke. "Did you intend to show me that, Mr. Potter?" he asked softly after a moment.

"Yes," Harry replied rebelliously.

"Why?" Severus settled against his chair, watching his student closely.

"Because," Harry replied evenly, "I wanted you to know who did it."

Severus snorted softly. "You lack maturity, Mr. Potter, though I suppose that at your tender age that might usually be forgiven. However, I would _hope_ that you would have the sense not to show your enemies those memories that they might hold against you."

"Are you my enemy, sir?"

For a moment, Severus was taken aback, and he only stared. Was he Potter's enemy? Not really. He wouldn't lower himself to considering a child an enemy, not without good reason. Of course, from what little he'd seen of himself through Potter's eyes, he had a fair indication that Potter considered him an enemy. Which made him wonder why he'd shown him that image of freeing Black. "If you need ask, Mr. Potter, it is best you plan for the worst contingency. If you do not know, then the answer is yes. Anyone you are unsure of is an enemy."

"Why won't you answer real questions for me, _sir?_"

"I wasn't aware that you'd asked any questions I hadn't answered."

"I asked about your childhood."

"And I told you it was none of your affair," Severus replied smoothly, taking another sip of his tea. "The fact that it was not the answer you sought does not make it less of an answer."

"Why won't you tell me if you're my enemy?"

Severus sighed and placed his teacup aside, and then his wand, and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "I'm going to tell you something right now, Potter, from a man who has lived his life in a precarious position to a boy who is shaping up to do the same—I was being entirely truthful when I told you that anyone whose loyalty you doubt is your enemy. If you have reason to ask, then there is no reason I could give that should make you believe me, even if I were interested in convincing you of my intentions, which I am not. Choose your friends wisely, Mr. Potter, and always remember how your parents met their end—through the betrayal of a man they thought to be their friend. Take care what you trust to other people, and you will live far longer." Having thus dispensed the unaccustomed bit of unbiased advice, Severus leaned back in his chair again and took up his teacup once more.

"Is it worth it to live longer if it's without any friends?" Harry asked softly.

"I wouldn't know, Mr. Potter, and that is a decision you would have to make for yourself. I tend to think living is preferable to dying, though, yes."

"You haven't any friends, have you?"

A scowl flitted across Severus' face. Surely even McGonagall couldn't blame him if he lost his temper with the insolent little prat. "I fail to see how that is any of your business," he said pointedly.

"And why is it so important that you not tell me?" Harry challenged.

Severus cast his gaze skyward for a minute and shook his head. "Yes, Mr. Potter, I have friends. I am not so deprived of social interaction as you and your classmates like to imagine."

The look on Harry's face said clearly, _Who'd be friends with you?_ Severus ignored the unspoken question. "_Legilimens," _he said suddenly, and he plunged into Harry's mind. Harry was walking with Ron, who was saying 'it's no wonder she hasn't any friends', and then Hermione brushed past, tears in her eyes. Harry was making a face as Colin Creevy pestered him about an autographed photo. Harry was listening somewhat sympathetically as Moaning Myrtle bemoaned her friendless fate.

Tired of the line of thought, Severus used that memory to delve deeper. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting around a cauldron in that bathroom, brewing the Polyjuice Potion (Professor Snape cringed at the thought of what those three idiots could have done if they'd missed an ingredient in that one.) Harry and Ron were changing into Crabbe and Goyle, and infiltrating the Slytherin Common Room (Snape exhaled sharply as he realized that for half a term, a pair of Gryffindors had walked around knowing the location of and password to the Slytherin area.) Slowly, Severus filtered through the layers of memories surrounding the events of four years ago, looking for an image of Dumbledore, but Harry seemed to have learned how to head him off. Severus picked up a bit of speed, moving more quickly through the fleeting images, challenging his pupil more and more, but Harry continued to deflect him, and, after fifteen minutes of finding nothing, Severus was ready to call the exercise a success.

As he opened his mouth, though, the tables suddenly turned on him. He was fourteen and standing at the edge of the Great Hall, watching everyone else dance, too afraid to ask any of the girls. He was twenty-three, and one of his Second Year students set a cauldron on fire, catching him unprepared and very nearly killing half a dozen students. He was standing in front of Dumbledore's desk, listening with downcast eyes as the Headmaster chastised him for a particularly thoughtless comment to one of his older students who had been of a rival house when he was still in school. McGonagall was relieving him of his teaching duties for the week. None of the memories were more than a flicker as Severus deflected Harry from each of them, and then finally hissed, "Enough!" and closed his mind entirely to the prying student. "What do you think you were doing, Mr. Potter?"

Harry scowled. "Trying to distract you," he answered, his eyes flashing defiantly.

"A bad idea. I liked your stinging hex last year better."

"Of course," Harry replied petulantly. "It is fine for you to rummage around in my head and dredge up memories, but if I turn the tables…"

"You are not here to learn legilimency, Mr. Potter. You are here to learn to block such attacks from yourself. And, if my memory serves, we have already had this discussion." Severus folded his arms across his chest. "Besides," he said softly, "if you force yourself into another's mind, he will almost certainly know you are there, and you leave yourself more vulnerable."

Harry sighed and slumped against the chair, his arms folded. "Fine."

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Fine?" he repeated. "Need I remind you every time we meet that you are my _student_ and I expect you to treat me with the respect due a professor?"

"Fine. _Sir._"

"Look at me, Potter." Harry looked rather pointedly in the other direction, and Severus picked up his wand and placed it against the boy's chin, pressing gently until the boy turned his head to meet his eyes. "I said look at me, Potter," he repeated in a dangerously low voice.

Harry looked at him.

"Your attitude has worsened, unlikely though I would have considered the possibility it _could_ become worse."

Harry scowled. "You should talk," he muttered.

Severus opened his mouth, a retort on his tongue, but he was interrupted by his own mind. He was staring at the Dali exhibit, admitting to Willow that he didn't understand the art. He was sitting with Lupin at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, a fourth of a chocolate cake on the plate in front of him. Dumbledore was handing him a bundle of letters from his students. He was sitting at his desk, reading the one letter that had been unsigned, telling him that the letters were an extra credit assignment from McGonagall. Severus shoved Harry from his mind again.

"_Enough_," he hissed sharply, narrowing his eyes at the miscreant pupil. "Detention, Potter. Seven o'clock on Wednesday. And I think we have progressed as far with our formal lessons as we are going to. Practice, Potter, and be wary; if I decide to delve into your mind, I do not wish to see images of anyone connected to the Order. Keep your mind on Quidditch and other things equally innocuous and inconsequential, and do us all a favor. Now go."

Harry rose, looking torn between anger and… something else that was more difficult to identify. "I want to tell you something first, Professor," he said quietly.

Severus sank his head into his hand, massaging the bridge of his nose. "What is it Potter?" he asked, what remained of his patience wearing thin very quickly.

"It isn't true. McGonagall had nothing to do with the letters, sir. She doesn't give extra credit for anything." Severus looked up at the boy, frowning. Then what…? The question must have shown on his face, because Harry continued. "Last fall, when you were gone for a day, Professor Ichalia made a comment that you were human like the rest of us and that you might appreciate a get-well card. Someone was trying to get her to tell where you were, but she wouldn't. Said she'd be more than happy to relay concerns to you… I dunno. Everyone was talking about it at breakfast on Tuesday, how some people had written you letters and…"

"That's enough, Potter," Severus said softly, interrupting him. "I don't require explanations."

Harry shrugged a bit. "I thought you deserved it," he replied. "Or at least deserved to know that any letters you got had nothing to do with McGonagall." Harry had his hand on the doorknob before Severus stopped him.

"Why did you tell me that, Mr. Potter?"

Harry paused for a minute, then half-turned and met Severus' eyes. "Because even if I don't like you, no one deserves to be told that acts of kindness were assignments from other teachers."

* * *

A/N: sorry for the delay in updating! The next three chapters kind of belonged together, so I needed to keep them all editable until I was ready to load them.


	27. Meet the parents

As though by magic, the parchments which had littered Severus' desk the previous two days were gone, and the House Elves had been in, polishing the gleaming wood to a mirror-like shine. There was no dust to be found anywhere in the potions master's office, and not a smudge or smear to mar the wood or glass. The hard stools which normally faced his desk had been transfigured into a pair of comfortable wingback chairs, richly upholstered in an opulent shade of emerald green. There was a rug on the floor, a beautifully woven Persian carpet, which had not been there the day before, and the silver candlesticks now held candles which were aglow with tiny flames. A fire blazed in the hearth, casting a warmth about the dungeons that few would have believed could exist. Dressed in his best robes that were not actually dress robes, more care than normal taken with his hair, Severus sat behind his desk, his eyes cast to the single sheet of parchment atop the behemoth surface. The rest of his scrolls and parchments were, of course, tucked into a drawer or else behind a door in one of the cabinets, but for now, at least, his office _looked_ orderly and refined. Not like the office of a man who had spent the last week collecting himself while someone else took his classes.

There was a knock on his door, and he raised his head, quill poised over the parchment he was marking. "Yes?" he called, and the door creaked open, revealing a House Elf who skittered in.

"Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle is being here to see Master Snape, sir," she squeaked, and Severus nodded.

"Very well. Show them in." He capped his bottle of ink and set aside the quill and parchment, rising from his seat as the Carlisles entered. "Mr. Carlisle," Severus nodded to the man, "Mrs. Carlisle. I'm Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House. Please, have a seat. Amber has spoken of you both often."

He'd told Amber to have them come visit, though he'd never imagined they would come today, only one day after the invitation was issued. He'd been even more surprised that they hadn't even the decency to announce the visit—they had apparently Apparated into Hogsmeade, and it was only because Dumbledore had a network of informants in the town that Severus had been made aware of their presence in time to make a fervent plea with McGonagall (and on a Quidditch day, no less!) to help him with the necessary transfigurations to make his office more… hospitable. He certainly hadn't the knack for creating something from nothing, and even if he would have been perfectly capable of conjuring a couple of chairs and vanishing a couple of stools, he doubted the end result would have been as tasteful as what Minerva had come up with. Severus had never claimed to be a decorator.

That he knew how to receive guests at all was directly attributable to Lucius Malfoy. Severus had been an awkward, socially inept youth who had come to Hogwarts in possession of absolutely no idea of how to conduct himself. "Would you care for tea or wine?" he asked while the couples arranged themselves in the chairs. "You must be parched after walking from Hogwarts. Had I known you were coming, I would have arranged transportation, or given you directions to Floo directly to the school."

"Nonsense, Professor," Mr. Carlisle said good-naturedly. "It's a lovely day, and we decided we would enjoy the walk we so often took when we were children. It has been years since I'd glimpsed Honeydukes, and I must say it did my memory good."

Severus nodded, wondering with a touch of well-concealed impatience if they wanted something to drink. Mrs. Carlisle answered that question in a melodious voice.

"It was lovely, but I think a cup of tea would not go amiss, if it is not inconvenient."

"Not at all," Severus replied, glancing at the House Elf who had shown them in. "Lissy, fetch tea for our guests, if you please."

The Elf squeaked and curtsied, and darted off, all but running through the corridors in her haste to please. House Elf gone and refreshments seen to, Severus turned his attention to the witch and wizard in front of him. He judged them to be of an age with Molly and Arthur, though they could not have been more different.

Mrs. Carlisle had brown hair, streaked with Grey, pulled away from her face in a sleekly elegant, yet austere bun that reminded Severus of the way Minerva wore her hair. She sat with her spine so straight that it could have been a steel rod, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her face was faintly lined at the corners of her brown eyes and full lips, and coupled with the Grey in her hair, her age was unmistakable, though there was nothing else about her that suggested years. Nor was there anything that suggested youth. She held herself with a formal dignity that brooked no nonsense, and yet, she did not look cruel. Given the way Amber and Aislinn both spoke of her, he had been expecting someone with an evil look in her eyes, but Mrs. Carlisle looked as though she belonged in the world of Malfoys and Blacks and Lestranges. She looked like the sort of woman Severus' own mother had tried to be, but failed so miserably. She looked like he imagined Aislinn would have looked in another twenty years. In fact, if Aislinn's hair had been turning to silver, or if Mrs. Carlisle's eyes were blue, the two of them might have been twins.

It was from Mr. Carlisle, though, that Amber and Aislinn seemed to have inherited their sparkling blue eyes—he had the look of a man who had a secret he delighted in not sharing. He was tall, Severus had noted, and would explain how Aislinn had grown to the point that she could look Severus in the eye. He suspected that if father and daughter were standing side by side, and daughter was wearing her trademark high heels, father would still top her head by an inch or better. He was a robust man, though not as thick and simply _big_ as the Crabbes and Goyles of the world. His hair was almost entirely silver, but there was enough of a shadow to it that Severus suspected it had once been black. He was, in all, a distinguished and, Severus supposed, handsome fellow. The type who made women smile. He seemed positively animated in comparison with the statuesque Mrs. Carlisle, but his movements were sure, not nervous at all, and suddenly Severus found himself wondering if it was possible that these were not parents who were cruel, but parents who were demanding—a distinction Severus understood with crystal clarity.

"Well, Mr. Carlisle, Mrs. Carlisle, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Severus asked, leaning back in his chair, steepling his fingers in front of his chest.

"Please, call me Matthew," Mr. Carlisle offered, and Severus nodded. Matthew looked at his wife, and Severus had the distinct impression that it was to _her_ that he owed the _pleasure_ of this visit.

"To be perfectly honest, Professor Snape—"

"Severus," he interjected, and she nodded, much more gracefully than his own nod of acknowledgement had been.

"—We have been concerned about our daughter's education. We have, actually, already decided to remove her from Hogwarts at the end of the term; she has already been accepted to Beauxbatons in the autumn, and we feel it would be an excellent opportunity for her. We are here only because she pleaded with us to come and visit."

Mr. Carlisle leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "Amber is an impressionable child," he confided, "and I don't think we're entirely convinced that she's happy here. In fact, she's been writing all year, telling us how _unhappy_ she is. She hasn't many friends, she isn't enjoying her classes, and she doesn't feel there is anyone she can talk to, or turn to."

"It's a precarious age for a child, Professor Snape," Mrs. Carlisle added, and he noted with some portion of his mind that she had declined to address him more familiarly. "And, while I am certain that you do an admirable job as Head of Slytherin, I am not convinced that _any_ man could provide a girl with the guidance she needs to become a woman."

That surprised him. Severus found himself thinking quickly, as suddenly every argument he'd been prepared to make became null in the face of these new concerns. Not, of course, that he could rule out the possibility that there was still a concern about bloodlines, but he could not very well begin reciting his speech about ushering in a new era at Hogwarts, and seeing to it that the students were worthy of their education (a speech he had honed to perfection in the last fifteen years, as he'd given it even more often than he had his opening speech to First Years.)

"I see," he replied neutrally, and breathed an inaudible sigh of relief as there was a knock on his door and then Lissy returned with a tray laden with tea and biscuits. While the House Elf set out the refreshments, Severus had a moment to consider a new approach to the situation. By the time Lissy bowed out of the room and the Carlisles had their tea in their hands, he had decided on a plan of action. "I do apologize for the interruption, please, continue."

They exchanged meaningful looks, and then Mr. Carlisle continued. "Yes, well, I think we have voiced most of our concerns. Amber is unhappy, Professor, and increasingly so, judging by the tone of her letters in the last week, and we won't have her education suffering because she does not fit into a school."

"Please understand, Professor Snape, that we are not here so you may change our minds, but because Amber wished us to come." This was Mrs. Carlisle. "And, quite aside from her own unhappiness, I wish her to be nearer. Hogwarts is exceptionally difficult to come visit, really, and so very far away. I… wish my daughter to be close enough to hug her from time to time, and really, I'm not convinced she will be going to Beauxbatons in the autumn, either. Perhaps private tutors for a year or two, and then we will see how she has progressed." There was a brightness to Mrs. Carlisle's eyes suddenly, and Mr. Carlisle reached for her hand, squeezing it so tenderly that Severus felt for a moment that he was an intruder in his own office.

"We lost our older daughter this spring," Matthew explained quietly. "We weren't even aware she was ill until we had her death notice. We had a… falling out of sorts a few years ago…"

"I need my daughter nearer," Mrs. Carlisle insisted softly, and it had the faint sound of a mantra. "We made so many mistakes with Hannah, and I can't help but think Hogwarts was one of them. She was exposed to entirely too much nonsense here and…" She trailed off, taking a deep breath, and Severus found himself fighting for his own composure.

Matthew placed an arm around his wife's shoulder, and Severus opened his desk drawer, withdrawing a freshly-laundered handkerchief. He'd always kept one in there, but this was the first time he'd had to bring it out twice in two days. First for Amber, and now for Amber's mother. He offered the linen to her, and she accepted it gratefully, dabbing at her eyes as Severus stood and moved around to lean against the desk.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," he said softly, watching them for a moment. Those tears were real. He couldn't begin to imagine what had passed between Aislinn and her mother, but the woman in front of him was grieving, quite honestly, and he could only believe it was for her daughter. "Hannah was a remarkable young woman," he said softly, choosing his words carefully. He had no idea how much they knew.

Mr. Carlisle regarded Severus for a long moment, a frown on his face. "You don't look old enough to have been here when Hannah was here," he commented.

"I was very young when I began teaching," Severus countered. "Hannah was one of my first students."

Mrs. Carlisle was leaning heavily against her husband's arm, Mr. Carlisle rubbing her arm softly. "We made many mistakes with Hannah," she repeated softly. "I made many mistakes with her. I can only blame myself for what happened…"

"…You cannot blame yourself, Elizabeth," Matthew whispered, and again Severus had the uncomfortable feeling that he was intruding. Matthew looked up and offered a brief explanation, "She was ill, as I said before. She'd been ill as a child, but we did not know she had relapsed."

"If I'd kept her at home…"

"If you'd kept her at home," Severus interrupted softly, kneeling in front of Mrs. Carlisle, "she would have been a caged bird, never given the chance to spread her wings. Quite unrelated to the question of Amber staying here, and yet a question running parallel to it, you cannot keep a child from growing up. If I've learned anything, it is that children become adults, despite everyone's best efforts to keep them children. Some grow to ripe old ages, and some die before their time, but Hannah touched many hearts because you let her go. She was _happy_, Mrs. Carlisle. I know this for a fact."

"You can't know that," she protested, shaking her head. "She was happy as a child, but just after she graduated, I tried to force her into a marriage… but she had her head full of Gryffindor ideals and she simply refused. And when I pressed the issue… she disappeared."

That he had not known, and it differed somewhat from the story Aislinn had told him. A story he had believed without question. It had been many years since he'd believed anything without question, but… There were two sides to every coin. "She _was_ happy, Mrs. Carlisle. I know, because she was teaching here through the autumn term last year, and I had the pleasure of becoming friends with her."

"Hannah was?" Matthew's voice sounded incredulous.

Severus nodded. "She taught Divination. I believe she and Amber became quite close over the course of the autumn, and I believe that her passing might account for a portion of the unhappiness you have sensed in Amber's letters."

"Amber knew her?" Elizabeth asked softly. "That was one of my many regrets—that Amber never knew her sister."

"Amber was coming to know her," Severus replied softly. "I do not know the full extent of their relationship." He moved back to his own chair and sank gratefully into it; the energy required to keep his own emotions in check was increasingly a strain on him.

"Did Amber know she was her sister?" Elizabeth Carlisle asked urgently, and Severus sighed heavily.

"I believe, Mrs. Carlisle, that this is a conversation you might wish to have with Amber. I do not know all the details. I do, however, know that Aislinn's passing has affected Amber greatly."

Matthew nodded. "I'm sure it must have been difficult for Amber, to learn she had a sister, only to have that sister taken away so soon."

"Who is Aislinn?" Mrs. Carlisle looked confused from Professor to husband and back. Mr. Carlisle had the unpleasant look of someone who had just revealed more than he'd intended. Severus could have sliced out his own tongue for such indiscretion, and he was so busy berating himself that it took him a moment to realize that Matthew Carlisle had not missed a beat when Severus spoke of 'Aislinn'.

"Well, ah," Matthew cleared his voice softly. "Hannah changed her name, dear. To Aislinn Ichalia."

"She did _what?!_" Severus found himself quite glad that the icy glare was not directed at him. "When did this happen?"

"Ah, six years ago or so, I think." Matthew frowned in concentration, and Severus recognized the Ravenclaw looking for a precise fact. It was the first time he'd seen a hint of any House in either of the two adults. A Ravenclaw searching for a fact and missing the point. Elizabeth was fuming silently, her tears suddenly seeming to dry.

"And why, might I ask, did you never inform me of this outrage? Hannah's _name_ should have been a source of pride for her. It represents many long years of…"

"Not now, Elizabeth. It isn't important."

"It most certainly _is_ important that you withheld this information from me. How _dare_ you keep my daughter's little…"

"She was my daughter too, Elizabeth, and I did not tell you because I was afraid that this," Matthew waved irritably, taking in his wife's enraged form, "would be your reaction! I was giving her money, because I did not want her starving on the streets, or stopping to unthinkable levels so she could have food on her table and a roof over her head! She came to me, and I kept her confidence because I was afraid that if you found out, you would bloody well drive her off again."

Once more, Severus was feeling like an intruder, and he _very_ seriously considered leaving the couple to their spat. He wasn't sure if it was an attention to propriety or a distaste of leaving unfamiliar people alone in his office that kept him from excusing himself, or perhaps a bit of both, but he shifted uncomfortably and tried to ignore the unfolding argument.

"That _I_ would drive her off! I only ever wanted what was best for her, and if she'd done as I said, she would never have been in danger of stooping to any level, nor of starving on the streets!"

"She didn't want to marry, Elizabeth," Matthew sounded tired. "She didn't want to marry, and fat lot of good it would have done if she had. There would have been no heir, and you know that as well as I do."

"I know it now, but I didn't know it then, and neither did you and neither did she so don't act as though that should have been a deciding factor. It was her _duty_ to carry on…"

"Codswallop, Beth. It has nothing to do with _duty_. Or have you forgotten what it was like to be in love, with the world at your feet? Why did you want to deprive her of that?"

"I had the sense to fall in love with the right sort of man," Elizabeth huffed, folding her arms. "Hannah was far too much a dreamer. Who knows what sort of riff-raff would have caught her eye?"

What sort of riff-raff indeed, Severus thought dryly, wondering what Mrs. Carlisle would say if he revealed that _he_ was the sort of 'riff-raff' who had managed to catch her elder daughter's eye? If he'd had any inclination to mention it, though, it was short-lived as he found himself wishing for one of Aislinn's bloody dreams-come-true. _Someone please rescue me from this._ No such luck. Wishing, it seemed, was the sole property of one deceased Aislinn Ichalia. Barring rescue, he attempted to put his mind from the bickering and onto trying to work out what, precisely, the Carlisles were after.

Aislinn had been rather adamant that her mother was only interested in social promotion, and, from his chair, Severus could see that Elizabeth Carlisle was, indeed, _very_ concerned with her family's social prominence. She was being as much of a bitch about 'pureblood' families as any self-respecting Malfoy or Avery. But, even so, he couldn't help but think that there was more to her than that. Matthew Carlisle seemed to hold many attitudes in common with his wife, but that obsession with blood was not one of them. And both of them, it seemed, were genuinely interested in the welfare of Amber, and both, he would venture a guess, had been deeply hurt by their loss. A loss, he was gathering, that had occurred not a week ago, but eight years ago, when, for a reason he didn't know, Aislinn had left home.

Left? Or been kicked out? To hear Aislinn speak of it, she'd been disowned, and that was what Amber had said as well—but how much of that had been influenced by Aislinn? Amber had said that she grew up thinking her sister was a squib or some such, and Severus had assumed that the attitude had been born of her parents' insistence that the older girl was not discussed. A conclusion he'd drawn based on what Aislinn had said. Now, he found himself wondering if perhaps Hannah was a topic that the Carlisles simply did not discuss out of a desire for peace. Elizabeth and Matthew were still arguing.

"…not going to blame me for what happened!"

"Should have taken her to St. Mungo's, but _you_ insisted…"

"St. Mungo's is a hospital for _Magical Maladies and Injuries, _Elizabeth. _Magical._ Not _natural_."

Severus rethought his earlier assertion that this was a discussion the Carlisles needed to be having with Amber. No, he decided, this was a discussion that Amber did not need to be hearing, though it was a shame that the argument had never been had while Aislinn was present. It sounded, to Severus' untrained ears, that the Carlisles had many bits of dirty laundry that needed airing, and it was unfortunate that they seemed to have been left to rot and mildew for all these years.

His mind drifted back to something Autumn had said—that Aislinn had been a veritable 'doormat' when she met her. Severus closed his eyes momentarily, and conjured an image of Hannah Carlisle as a Fourth Year student. She'd not been shy, but she'd been… easy to get along with. A lot like Remus, in many ways, in fact. He could suddenly see her as very eager to please, and very eager to avoid arguments. Willing to let almost anything slide past her, any criticism bounce off her. How had he tried to coax a reaction from her? He'd wanted her to defend herself, to defend her actions, to talk back to him. He'd _wanted_ the pleasure of giving her a detention for mouthing off; it would have soothed some of his irritation over her damnable persistence in not following instructions, but he'd never been able to provoke her into any true misbehaving, so he had been limited to frustrating detentions in which he watched her redo a potion, step by careful step.

As an adult, Aislinn had been far less reticent, and far more willing to engage, though she'd still been even tempered. He remembered in painfully acute detail how she had reacted when he'd tried to defend her at a staff dinner. She had been _furious_ with him, because he'd caused a scene. He could suddenly imagine her being frustrated with her parents if she could see them now, bickering in public, but in their own home… Unfortunate indeed. He could almost hear her sharp retorts and accusations. Accusations of things which, apparently, her parents did not realize they were being held responsible for. She had been very young when she was diagnosed with cancer, and if a small child heard her parents bickering over her hospital… Yes. Severus could see how she might draw the conclusion that her mother was ashamed of her.

As it was, Severus thought it likely that, while human and with the human propensity towards making mistakes, Matthew and Elizabeth Carlisle were not the villains she'd seemed to think they were. And, if she'd not left home so abruptly at such a young age, she might have come to realize that. Amazing how years changed one's perspective.

And isn't that what Potter told you a week ago? The thought, unbidden and unwelcome, crept in at a most inopportune juncture in his speculation, and suddenly he was wondering how much of the idiocy in the world was attributable to the passionate idiocy of youth.

"…can't believe you never told me she was all right, that she was still alive and thriving and…"

"And what would you have done? Demanded to see her. I wouldn't risk estranging her even more…"

Once again, Severus found himself fervently wishing for some miracle to save him from this conversation that he did not wish to witness. This time, however, his wish was answered by a soft chiming. He glanced up, and very nearly smiled with relief as he stood suddenly. "Mr. Carlisle, Mrs. Carlisle, I fear that I must beg you pardon, but there is a Quidditch match beginning in fifteen minutes, and I wouldn't dream of not being there. Slytherin stands to move ahead of Gryffindor for the House Cup, and it is, of course, a game of critical importance to the students. Had I realized you would be here, I would have begged out of it, of course," the lie rolled easily from his tongue—there was nothing short of an act of God that would keep him from this Quidditch match, "but as it is… Would you care to join me in the staff box? It should be a good game, the Ravenclaw team is quite talented…" Severus noted with a certain degree of self-satisfaction that he had pulled a leaf from Molly Weasley's book just then and successfully herded the Carlisles from his office and shut the door firmly. He'd even picked up Mrs. Carlisle's handbag and put it in her hands and gathered their cloaks for them. "And then, after the match, perhaps we can continue our conversation, with Amber present."

"Oh, really, Professor Snape, I don't think…"

"Why not, Elizabeth? When was the last time we watched a Quidditch match? I daresay it's been years, and I don't think we've ever watched a Slytherin-Ravenclaw match."

Elizabeth smiled sheepishly at Severus, tucking her hand into her husband's arm. "We made it a point to avoid games that would put us at odds. Always found something more interesting in the Astronomy Tower, or library."

Severus nearly snorted, having a very good idea what they had found so interesting in the Astronomy Tower. "Some things, Mrs. Carlisle, never change," he commented wryly as they passed a pair of Sixth Year students going the wrong way to be heading for the Quidditch pitch. Normally, Severus would have trailed after them, but he wasn't abandoning a Quidditch game just to catch a couple of students snogging. He wouldn't even abandon a Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game for that.

Matthew laughed heartily. "Right you are, Professor," he replied jovially. "Many things never change."

Severus opened the door to the grounds and gestured for the other two to precede him. "Something to keep in mind, perhaps, while you are making a decision about your daughter's future. Hogwarts didn't kill either of you, and Amber won't suffer for it, either."

"Ah, how thoughtful, Severus. You'll be there to dry your students' tears when they fail to move ahead of Gryffindor." Severus looked up and scowled good-naturedly at Minerva.

"Not likely," he retorted. "More likely I'll be celebrating with them when they leave your House in the dust." He turned to his companions and gestured towards McGonagall. "You have met Minerva McGonagall, I trust? She is Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress."

"Of course," Mrs. Carlisle replied formally, offering a hand. "Pleased to meet you again, Professor."

Minerva shook both their hands, then skived off to find herself a seat in the staff stands, and Severus turned to the Carlisles. "I normally sit with the students, and you're welcome to join us, or if you would be more comfortable, I can show you to the staff section. It is a bit… tamer."


	28. The price of victory

As it happened, the Carlisles opted to sit in the student section, but they chose to sit with Amber, who was sitting with a dozen or so other First Years.

There is something about a Quidditch game that simultaneously brings out the best and the worst in a group of people who are naturally competitive. The Slytherins, normally so prone to bickering among themselves and trying to undermine each other, had a rare ability to meld together and present a unified front for a match. The Seventh Years, who normally had nothing to do with the First Years, were mingled in among everyone, and the upper rows of the stands were abandoned as all the students pressed into the first and second rows, practically on top of each other, as they cheered on their team. And Severus, normally so restrained and reserved, was standing precisely in the center of the first row, his voice adding to the collective cheers when Slytherin scored and groans when Ravenclaw put a Quaffle through the hoops.

By and large, Slytherin scored much more often than it was scored against. Slytherin, in fact, was consistently the highest scoring of the four Houses, though in recent years, Gryffindor had moved ahead in actual wins, due to Potter's phenomenal success as a seeker. It was thanks to Slytherin's consistency in scoring ninety and a hundred points in a game, though, that kept them as one of the two real contenders for the House Cup. This year, Gryffindor was unbeaten, and had collected 690 points, and was finished for the year. Slytherin, in two games, had 420 points, which meant that they needed 280 points to win the House Cup (no one seriously believed that Ravenclaw could rally enough to contend for the cup). That was a number that would have been unreasonably high for any team except Slytherin. Severus had spoken with the team earlier in the day, and spirits were high—it was going to be a game won one goal at a time, and they needed to hold off on capturing the Snitch until they had scored thirteen goals before Malfoy caught the Snitch. And _that_ meant that they needed to prevent the Ravenclaws from catching the Snitch as well.

Despite the general consensus among students that Slytherins played dirty, Severus doubted any of his team would even _consider_ playing outside the rules. If they did, they would have his displeasure to contend with, and that was generally enough to keep any of them from doing _anything_ he told them not to do. However, just because Slytherin stayed within the bounds of rules and regulations, that did not mean that their game was without cunning. Quidditch was not, as the Gryffindors seemed to believe, a game of putting Quaffles through hopes and catching the snitch as soon as possible. It was a game which allowed the savvy player a great deal of leeway in scoring points, and great opportunity for strategy. For example, there was no rule against one team's beaters hitting Bludgers towards the players on other teams. Gryffindor beaters made the, in Severus' mind, crucial error of simply defending their teammates from the Bludgers, often batting them well away from the pitch. Severus saw to it that the Slytherin team _used_ the Bludgers, and to good effect, as an offensive measure rather than simply defensive. In addition, there was no rule that the Seeker was untouchable, though the noble Gryffindors tended to have their precious Potter hover along the sidelines until he saw the Snitch. Malfoy, by contrast, would be functioning as a third Chaser in this game, and Crabbe had as his primary assignment to stay in the Ravenclaw Seeker's way as much as humanly possible. Try to remove her from play, in fact. Not to _hurt_ her, though injuries were common, even in tame matches.

It was a sound strategy. Thirteen goals, catch the Snitch, win the Cup. Get in Cho's way and keep her from the snitch until the thirteen goals had been scored and Malfoy had the snitch in his sights. Give the team a strong enough buffer that Crabbe and Goyle could screen Malfoy while he chased the Snitch, even if that meant sacrificing a goal (Slytherin was, aside from being the highest scoring of the four houses, the least scored-against House. Severus had a _strong_ case with McGonagall when he was arguing that Slytherin was the better team.)

An hour into the game, the plan was going perfectly. Slytherin was up 70-20 over Ravenclaw, and one of those seven goals had come from Malfoy's hands. Crabbe had shoved Cho away from the Snitch twice. The student body was in an uproar, demanding that Hooch call the game more 'fairly', though all the teachers knew that Slytherin was _well_ inside the rules with their playing. It was ruthless, and it was obvious that the emerald-robed players were not only out for a win, but they were out for a _spectacular_ upset. They were out to slaughter.

A flittering of gold caught Severus' eye, and he held his breath as the Snitch suddenly soared directly in front of the Slytherin box. A moment later, Cho seemed to notice the fluttering ball, and she made a lurching dive towards it, her broom cutting right, then left, then right again as she outmaneuvered Crabbe. Crabbe, however, had the speed of his Nimbus 2001 on his side, and a moment later was on Cho's tail, his own broomstick maneuvering nothing to sneeze at. A ripple of a cheer began in the Ravenclaw section as Cho closed in on the Snitch, though the ripple was drowned out by the roar as Slytherin scored another goal (80-20, Slytherin!) Crabbe suddenly dropped and cut in front of Cho, coming up so quickly that she was forced to either veer off to the side or fly into the boy who was, in essence, a brick wall. By the time she regained her flying space, the Snitch had flitted again, and another cheer rose from the Slytherins as their game continued.

Cho whipped past the Slytherin stands, and a hissing rose from the green-clad Slytherins, following the Seeker until she took up post elsewhere, across the field. Crabbe was darting back and forth in front of her, thwarting most of her attempts to do much more than simply sit atop her broom. It was a very effective strategy—shut down the other team's Seeker. The brooms suddenly whipped around, and, a moment later, another roaring cheer rose from the Slytherin section as once again the Quaffle was delivered through one of the golden hoops. They needed four more goals, and then the Snitch, and the game would be over for them, the cup theirs.

Ravenclaw called a time out, and the two teams hit the pitch while the students took the moment to sit and relax, stretching and resting their abused vocal cords. Severus watched as the Ravenclaw captain spoke animatedly, waving his hands wildly and pointing at various team members. The Slytherin team was leaning against the wall of the staff box, chatting idly, it seemed, though there was a focus in Malfoy's eyes that made Severus think there was more plotting going on. _Good show, Malfoy,_ Severus thought.

"Professor?" A small voice belonging to a small, familiar girl piped up from his left elbow, and Severus looked down to see Amber.

"Enjoying the game, Miss Carlisle?" he asked, and she grinned, her head bobbing in an excited nod.

"What do you think the Ravenclaws are planning?" she asked, and he smiled a bit.

"I'm sure I don't know," he replied, "but I'm also sure it doesn't matter. There's nothing they will do to take our victory, am I right?" This last was spoken to half a dozen of the nearest students, and they responded with a loud, but incoherent cheer. Severus turned back to Amber, and then looked around. "Where are your parents?" he asked in a softer tone.

She frowned slightly. "I don't think they like Quidditch. Mum said something about a Venus-Mars aspect they wanted to observe from the Astronomy Tower, though. I didn't know mum and dad were into Astronomy."

To his credit, Severus managed to keep a straight face. "You might find it odd what people find interesting," he commented neutrally.

Hooch blew her whistle again, and the players resumed their positions, and the student spectators theirs, and the game was off again. Malfoy took up the Quaffle, and then passed it to another of the chasers, who passed it back. They snaked up the pitch, towards the goals, and suddenly Cho darted forward. Severus narrowed his eyes, sweeping the air for a flash of gold, but found none. The Slytherins were cheering, though, as Crabbe darted forward on Cho's tail, and then overtook her, weaving back and forth, generally hindering her movements. And, as it happened, hindering the chasers as well, and the Slytherins were forced to hold back as Cho dove and wove in front of the hoops. After a moment, Severus frowned.

"What are they doing, Professor?" Amber asked, her voice barely a squeak above the roar of the crowd.

Severus snorted. "Trying to turn the tables, I'd say," he replied derisively, silently willing Crabbe to realize that there was no Snitch. Crabbe did not realize it, though, and suddenly Ravenclaw had the Quaffle, and the play swept up the field the other way. There was a collective hiss and groan as Ravenclaw scored an unchallenged goal.

Malfoy rallied the team, though, and a moment later they recovered the goal, despite the efforts of Cho, who attempted her trick again. Crabbe had picked up her deception, though (or, more likely had had it pointed out to him by one of his teammates) and made it a point to hinder her _away_ from play. As though in payment for the humiliation of being tricked, Slytherin scored twice more in short order, bringing the score up to 110-30. Severus could almost taste the victory already when Ravenclaw suddenly rallied, scoring three times in quick succession. Slytherin had recovered one of those goals when there was suddenly a flutter of gold again, and Cho made a quick dart forward. Crabbe followed her as she wove in and out, up and down, turning loops and making tight spirals that would have been impressive even if she wasn't chasing the Snitch.

Goyle, seeing that Crabbe was having a hard time catching up to the Ravenclaw Seeker, abandoned his position and came to help interfere with Cho's ability to move. With the two Slytherin Beaters so intently focused on Cho, there was no one left to notice that a pair of Ravenclaw Chasers had cut away and were off as well. Half the Slytherin spectators groaned in unison as they realized what was going on—once more, the Slytherin team had been outsmarted by the Ravenclaws; Cho was only a diversion, it would be one of the Chasers who caught the Snitch at this rate. Severus sighed, looking longingly at the scoreboard. It was 120-60, and Slytherin _needed_ one more goal, and _needed_ to catch the Snitch if they were to win, but it looked hopeless suddenly. Hopeless, at least, until Malfoy suddenly passed the Quaffle to Bole and then darted towards the Snitch himself.

Malfoy, despite sneers from other teams that he had bought his way onto the team, was an excellent flier and not a bad Seeker, though Severus would have been fooling himself to pretend that the Seeker position was not the weakest point on the Slytherin team. Luckily, though, Malfoy was competing against Chasers for possession of the Snitch, not against the Ravenclaw Seeker, and Malfoy was far more familiar with the idiosyncrasies of the tiny ball, so that when the two Chasers dove forward, closing in on it, Malfoy hung back for a moment. Sure enough, the ball swerved sharply to the left, and Malfoy was on it, glancing frantically at the three hoops. He seemed to know the same thing everyone in the stands knew—the Ravenclaws were not going to be diverted from the Snitch this time. This game was about to end, one way or the other.

Malfoy made a sudden lurch, and just as his fingers clutched the Snitch, there was a roar from the stands. Bole had scored a goal, almost simultaneously with Malfoy's catching the Snitch. Slytherin had won the game, that much was sure, though everyone was holding their breath. The 150 points from Malfoy's catch had already been added, bringing the score to 270-60, and Hooch was now at the scoreboard, bent over it.

"No goal! No goal! No goal!" The Gryffindors had taken up a chant, and slowly, the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were joining.

"Goal! Goal! Goal!" Slytherin was responding in kind, and student voices were swelling through the pitch. Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw captain, was at Hooch's side now, gesturing madly again, and Malfoy was striding confidently over as well, and Severus could tell that he was taking up the Slytherin position. The chanting grew louder and louder, and Hooch, looking increasingly harassed, glanced up at Dumbledore.

Dumbledore stood, holding up a hand, and then spoke, his voice echoing through the pitch and quieting the students. "Seeing as the question of this goal will decide the winner of the House Cup," he announced, sounding as infinitely wise as he ever did, "I do not think it fair to anyone that an arbitrary decision be made. A round of overtime is in order, I believe. If Slytherin scores first, the goal will count. If Ravenclaw scores first, it will not."

Hooch nodded and blew her whistle sharply. "Positions, everyone!" she yelled, the Quaffle tucked under her arm as she strode back to the middle of the field. The Bludgers, which had only just been caught, were up again, though the Snitch was still packed away firmly. The two teams formed their circle on either side of Hooch, and suddenly the Quaffle was in the air again, the two teams kicking off.

Malfoy caught the Quaffle, and passed it towards Bole, but it was intercepted, and it was only through a spectacular save by the Slytherin Keeper that they were still in the game. The players soared back down the field, but another spectacular save, this time for Ravenclaw, turned the tide again. A save by Slytherin; a save by Ravenclaw. Another save by Slytherin, and another by Ravenclaw. Again and again, and the game stretched on another half hour before Malfoy suddenly retrieved the Quaffle and made a dive, drawing the Ravenclaw Keeper to the far hoop. As he did, Crabbe and Goyle moved in, and Malfoy passed the Quaffle back to Bole. The Ravenclaw Keeper was unable to move past the Slytherin Beaters, and Bole hurled the Quaffle through the hoops. A cheer erupted from the Slytherin stands, and the final ten points were added to Slytherin's score. It was 280-60, and Slytherin had won the cup. Severus' hands were in the air as high as any of the students' were, and, from across the pitch, he caught Minerva's eye.

She was shaking her head, but clapping, and there was a half a smile on her face. He could see her lips moving, and thought she had told him 'Good game.' Which it was. He would have to think long and hard to find something to complement about the Gryffindor efforts this year.

Down on the pitch, the entire Slytherin population, it seemed, had gathered about the team and hoisted them into the air, and Severus noted with some satisfaction the look of pride on Malfoy's face at being so obviously worshipped by the students. None of the others were any different, of course, but Malfoy always caught Severus' eye. He looked so like his father had at that age, though he hadn't quite the silky smooth presence that Lucius had possessed even as a student. Draco Malfoy thrived off praise, and Severus had been trying for six years to see that the fair-haired boy got it while he was at Hogwarts. He didn't know whether his efforts had been wasted or not, but he could still find reason to hope that when the time came for Draco to choose between following in his father's footsteps and setting his own course, that he would choose the latter. A difficult choice to influence, though, when Severus had to maintain appearances on so many different levels.

After a moment of observing the impromptu celebration, Severus slipped down to the pitch, but before he reached the throng of students, he was intercepted by Minerva. "That was quite an impressive game, Severus," she told him in a voice that was obviously resigned to graciousness.

"I wouldn't feel too bad, Minerva," he told her, his lips curling into a smirk. "Your team performed quite admirably this year. Perhaps, though, if Potter would learn the fine art of not ending the game before your Chasers have the chance to score any goals…"

"Don't start on Harry just now, Severus."

He shrugged. "I was merely saying that if there was less a drive to play the hero and more a commitment to the success of the team, that the Gryffindor team would prove all but unstoppable," he replied placatingly.

"And what makes you think I'd take advice from a rival?" Minerva asked, lifting an eyebrow, and Severus smiled.

"Simple, my dear. I know that telling a Gryffindor not to play the hero is tantamount to telling the tides not to come in. Now, if you will excuse me, Minerva, I have a celebration to join." He bowed shallowly to her, and slipped off, a spring in his step that hadn't been there for quite some time.

When he reached the cluster of students on the pitch, Severus lifted his hands for their attention, and the clamor died down slowly as eyes turned to the Head of Slytherin who had an unusual smile on his face. Even the Slytherins did not often see him smiling very often. "I believe," he said, his voice carrying a silken softness despite being raised to a volume that was audible to the entire assembled crowd, "that a celebration is in order. If everyone will be so good as to return to the Slytherin Common room…"

The students let out another cheer, and there was a rush of Slytherins back towards the castle, carrying the Quidditch team on their shoulders as they cheered and jeered their way back to the common room. Severus stopped in the kitchens before joining them, instructing the House Elves to see to it that the students had butterbeer, pumpkin punch and sweets for the rest of the evening, and ordering a selection of more civilized fare be sent to his personal sitting room in an hour's time.

By the time he made his way into the Slytherin Common Room, the celebration was at full tilt, with students and parents and teachers joining in. Certain teachers were, of course, conspicuously absent, but that didn't matter. In fact, most of the students seemed to wish all the adults would leave, all together. A wish Severus had every intention of granting in reasonably short order.

"Well done, Snape! Another stunning victory for Slytherin!" Phillipa Parkinson, Pansy Parkinson's mother, had lifted a glass of wine to him as he stepped into the room, and Severus shook his head firmly.

"The praise belongs to the students, Philipa, not to me." He pressed through the crowd of students to where the adults were gathered in one corner of the room, and accepted a glass of an excellent vintage of Merlot from Lucius' hand. Severus had never known Lucius not to have wine at his disposal.

"Ah, but you can't tell us that you had nothing to do with that strategy, Severus," offered Victor Nott, one of the Death Eaters. One of the many present this evening. Severus felt his elation dampening.

"I wouldn't dream of taking such a victory away from young Malfoy," Severus replied, and it was entirely truthful and barely half honest. Severus had spent many an afternoon watching Quidditch games with Draco, commenting on what he found effective and ineffective strategies, and, as he'd suspected, most of the strategies he speculated would be interesting or which he praised worked their way into the Slytherin team's repertoire.

"Regardless," Lucius said, moving to slide an arm companionably about Severus' shoulders and lifting his glass into the air, "it is worthy of celebration that the cup is being returned to its rightful place in _Slytherin_ hands. May it never again be defiled by Gryffindor filth."

There was a twitter of laughter, and half a dozen glasses shoved into the air. "Here here!"

The portrait hole opened again, and heads turned towards it as a House Elf skittered inside, depositing her tray of cakes and truffles on a table before making a mad dash towards Severus and coming to a frenzied halt. "There is being the Carlisles outside the door, Master Severus," she squeaked, "should Lissy be letting them in?"

"Certainly!" Severus replied, and Lissy skittered away. "More parents," Severus explained in answer to the unspoken questions from the others.

"Ah, but of course." Lucius took a sip of his wine, and all the adults' eyes were trained on the door when the Carlisles stepped into the room. Severus lifted a hand to draw their attention, but they took their time, all the same. Matthew had the look of a man who was quite obviously in a place for the first time, and the scrutinizing looks he was casting about the Common Room made Severus wonder if the room lived up to his expectations. Elizabeth Carlisle, by contrast, had a look of nostalgia planted firmly on her features, and the familiar way she ran her fingers over the back of one of the sofas made Severus wonder what memories she was reliving.

All conversation among the adults had slowed while the two newcomers made their way to the gathering, and when they arrived, Severus gestured for them to come closer. "Ah, I'm glad to see you found your way back down. This is Matthew and Elizabeth Carlisle," he indicated each of them, though it was fairly obvious which was Matthew and which Elizabeth. "Mr. and Mrs. Carlisle, these are the other parents. And I'll not make you suffer through a tedious list of introductions just now," he said with as gracious a smile as he could summon.

Lucius was, as so often, the first to step forward. "Mr. Carlisle, Mrs. Carlisle," he said to each of them in turn. "Lucius Malfoy, and my wife Narcissa. Our son, Draco, is the captain of the team, and the team Seeker," he explained. "Which of the students is your protégé?"

Severus noted that Matthew had resumed a certain degree of formality as he took Lucius' hand, but Elizabeth seemed quite in her element. "This has been our Amber's first year," she replied, nodding towards the group of First Year girls.

"Really," Lucius replied with a look of vague interest on his aristocratic features. "You'll pardon my saying so, but I was expecting you to name one of the older students."

Matthew's smile was tight. "Amber is our youngest," he replied stiffly, and Severus willed him to relax. Where was the charming, sociable man who'd been in his office a few hours before? It would be ideal if that man would make an appearance quickly.

"Yes, yes, I know," Elizabeth said, laughing suddenly. "We're far too old to have an eleven year old daughter, but it is a decision we have never regretted."

"No, dear," Narcissa said with a detached friendliness. "You're not too old at all. I rather doubt you're any older than the Weasleys are, after all."

"Weasleys…" Elizabeth frowned slightly. "I don't think…"

"You're too young to remember Arthur Weasley," Matthew commented. "He was a Third Year when I started Hogwarts, so I suppose he'd already graduated when you came. And Molly…" this time, Matthew was frowning as well. "Molly Melksin?" he asked, looking at Narcissa, who nodded, looking bored.

"Oh, of course I remember Molly," Elizabeth replied. "Then I presume they have children?"

There was a rumble of genuine laughter and Lucius suddenly placed a glass of wine in Elizabeth's hand, then moved towards her, draping an arm about her shoulder. "The Weasleys seem to be on a mission to single-handedly populate the entire wizarding community with red-haired brats. How many do they have, anyway," he looked in the general direction of the others. "Five? Six?"

"Seven," Severus answered promptly. "Ron is a Sixth Year, Ginny a Fifth Year, and in two more years I stand a chance to have an entire year at Hogwarts with no Weasleys in any of my classes."

There was more laughter and Lucius handed a glass of wine to Matthew as well. "Quite shameful, really. And their home, if you can call it that! Merlin's beard, if you're going to have that many children, there should be a minimum income requirement."

"Precisely," Mariana Davis piped in suddenly. "It is positively criminal. I have petitioned with the Ministry no fewer than ten times to have some of those children removed from their custody, but the Ministry really drags its feet about such things."

"Mariana has a heart as big as a mountain," Lucius confided to Matthew, "but unfortunately, the Ministry has other things to worry about just now."

"Hmph. It isn't 'just now' that I was so concerned. After the fourth child was born, the Ministry should have done something."

"There, there, my dear, have some more wine. What would the world be like without the Weasleys? Why, we wouldn't have anyone to point out for a children and say 'see, son, that is what you _don't_ want to happen, so you'd best pay attention in your classes!'"

There was another ripple of laughter, but Severus' contribution to it was half-hearted at best. He had come to have a great respect for the Weasleys, particularly for Arthur and Molly, and it chafed that he could not endanger his position by defending them.

"Ah, well," Lucius shrugged, draining his wine glass, which promptly refilled itself, while looking at Elizabeth. "You look quite familiar to me, my dear. Were we, perhaps, classmates?"

"Housemates," she answered promptly. "I believe I was a Sixth Year when you were sorted into Slytherin, so I hardly expected you would remember me. Though I could hardly forget you. Silky little bastard who never got caught," this last was said with enough of a smile that a roar of laughter erupted from the men in the group who were Lucius' closest friends, and the man in question took it with considerable grace, bowing ostentatiously.

"Indeed, Mrs. Carlisle," he quipped. "What good is causing havoc if one has to pay for it?"

Even Severus found himself laughing at that one. A genuine laugh, and for a moment, he began to forget everything that had happened in the last twenty-odd years. They were simply old classmates, bound together by a serpent, who shared memories of Hogwarts and each other. Even if Hogwarts was not full of fond memories for Severus, the best memories he had were attached to these walls. He sipped the wine again, and felt a wave of nostalgia sweeping over him. "Perhaps," he suggested in his signature soft tone, causing eyes to swivel to him, "we should continue in my sitting room. Leave the children to their merriment without our interference."

"An excellent suggestion, Severus! I knew there was a reason we loved you as Head of Slytherin!"

Quite aside from leaving the students to their celebration, Severus had the distinct impression that it would be prudent to separate adults from children before the adults' never-empty wine glasses brought about a state of inebriation. As he took a large drink from his own glass and watched the level of liquid slowly rise again, Severus wondered if the charm was brilliant or horrifying. Without ever seeing the bottom of a glass, it was difficult to gauge how much one had drunk. Which could be either advantageous or disadvantageous.

Before retiring to his rooms, Severus caught the students' attention. "Do try to remember that you all have classes tomorrow," he suggested. "I fear that fatigue from the celebration will not suffice as an excuse in my class, and I seriously doubt it would hold water with anyone else in the school." There was a ripple of laughter from the students, who were in far too good spirits to remember that they weren't supposed to laugh at their teachers. "Attempt to find your beds before 1, please," he told them, and though there were a few groans, they were largely protests out of principle—he had, after all, just extended their curfew by two hours. "And remember not to give anyone cause to come and put an end to the merriment earlier," he cautioned them. "I will not be pleased to hear that Professor McGonagall had to come quieten you all down. And _no dueling!_" With that last bit of command, he stepped out of the room and into the corridor.

Lucius clapped a hand on his back. "Still sticking to it about the rules against dueling, are you?" he asked.

Severus snorted. "If we weren't allowed the pleasure as students, they shan't be either. Come." He lifted his hand, flicking his fingers to indicate the party to follow him, and, laughing and chattering, they arrived in his rooms just in time to see a House Elf scampering off, leaving a vast array of hors d'ouvres on one of the tables.

Lucius settled himself familiarly into one of the chairs, and, after a little prompting, Narcissa sat primly in his lap. _Only _Narcissa Malfoy could look _prim_ while sitting in someone's lap. "So, Matthew, was it? You look oddly familiar. Do you work at the Ministry? One of the lower level positions, perhaps."

It was a faint jab, and Severus found himself hoping that Carlisle had a job that would make Malfoy sputter on his wine. He was in luck, it seemed. "No, actually, I don't work at the Ministry, though it would be little doubt if you'd seen me there. I work for the Prophet."

"Ah," Crabbe said, filling a plate with canapés and pate. "A reported, then."

"Yes."

"Oh, stop being so modest," Elizabeth scolded. "He's the senior international political correspondent," she told them proudly, and Matthew rolled his eyes slightly.

"I'm a reported," he replied succinctly. "That is what I do, and none of the other titles matter squat, except that I get more interesting assignments now than I did when I was covering local Quidditch championships."

"International politics, hrm? Well, have a seat then, Carlisle. I can't wait to hear your views on the current issues."

It turned out to be a very interesting evening indeed, and Severus thought that by the time it ended (half past three) that the Carlisles had made three decisions. First and most importantly they would leave Amber at Hogwarts. As it happened, social advancement was, indeed, a driving factor for Mrs. Carlisle at least, and Mr. Carlisle did not seem opposed to it. Second, they seemed to decide that the Malfoys were far more receptive to a family of recent bloodline than they would have expected. Draco, of course, would not marry a girl with Muggles so recently in her ancestry, but Lucius was well-connected, and Severus could already see the wheels turning in his head. Lucius was a smart man, and Severus would eat his socks if he wasn't thinking at least three generations into the future. And finally, Matthew, it would seem, had been swayed at least partially by the lively debates being bandied around. He had begun to warm up to the Slytherin patriarchs, and they were winning an ally in him. Severus wished he dared interrupt, but he did not. He knew where the conversation was going, though. He knew that 'There need to be more stringent admission standards at Hogwarts; it is shameful that the brightest students are held back by a desire to cater to those less talented' was a small step from 'perhaps the wizarding world would benefit from years of solidification. We have expanded to the point where it is no longer necessary for us to marry into Muggle bloodlines to keep the world alive; but it seems some of our brethren have lost sight of that original—questionable—goal' to 'Of course everyone wants to further their own goals, and one cannot blame Mudbloods for fighting for their rights. But we have rights too, and ours are sealed by a precedent of centuries.'

A victory, it would seem, with a dear cost.


	29. The benefit of explaining one's actions

By the time his Fourth Years departed from the dungeons on Wednesday, Severus was wishing he'd taken his own advice to the students and found his bed by 1 am. As he stifled a yawn, he also stifled a thought that he was getting too old to be staying up past three and then getting up in time to face his first class by eight. He knew he'd done this often when he was younger, but somehow, just now, it seemed the essence of torture to him. He was glad this next period was his 'planning' period. He planned to sleep through it.

As soon as the last student was gone, Severus stalked into his office, shut the door firmly, and lowered his head onto the pile of texts on his desk, not even bothering to clear the surface. His eyes drifted shut almost immediately. He had no way of knowing how long he dozed when he became aware of a faint rapping at the door, and, scrubbing a hand over his face and stifling a yawn, he glanced at the clock. He had twenty minutes before his next class arrived, and tried to ignore the persistent tapping, but could not.

""'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door This it is, and nothing more,"" he recited softly, hauling himself to his feet with great effort and wondering faintly if he would open the door to find a raven flitting inside. When he opened his door, though, it was no raven, but an owl, with a note wrapped about her leg. She hooted softly, fluttering to his shoulder and offering her leg. "And I suppose this couldn't have waited another fifteen minutes," he muttered as he removed the note. She hooted in affirmation, then took off again, her wings brushing against his face as she took flight out of the dungeons.

Severus opened the note and shook his head at it.

Dear Severus,

I was hoping you'd be amenable to the idea of joining me for dinner this evening. I apologize for using the owl, but I realized very suddenly that I haven't the slightest idea where you are or how to get in touch with you, and I rather miss seeing you.

Autumn.

Severus shook his head and moved back to his desk, opening a drawer and dropping the note in it. He'd reply later. With another yawn, he settled his head onto his arms again and closed his eyes. This time, though, he didn't even find sleep before he was interrupted, by a knocking at the door that was a little less raven-like and much more…

"Enter!" he called. The door opened.

…much more House Elf-like. "Lissy is being sent to give a letter to Master Snape," she squeaked, and Severus lowered his head to his arm again, flicking his fingers at the elf to indicate she should come forward. She scurried to place the envelope in his hand, and then paused. "Is Master Snape be needing anything else?" she asked. "Is Master Snape be feeling poorly?"

"I'm fine," he replied, almost automatically. "You may go, Lissy. Thank you." Though polite, it was a pointed dismissal, and Lissy knew her place. She skittered out the door again, and Severus let the note hang between his fingers for a long moment before he finally forced himself to sit up and slide a finger under the seal. The red wax popped up, and he unfolded the parchment, and, seeing nothing on it, took another look at the seal. Dumbledore. With a sigh, Severus reached into his desk drawer and removed his wand, touching the tip to the parchment. "_Aperio_," he murmured, and Dumbledore's script appeared on the page.

We will gather this evening at eight in the usual place. There is much to discuss. I would appreciate your presence.

AD

"_Aduro,"_ Snape murmured, and the corner of the parchment burst into flame. Severus held it until the fire grew uncomfortably hot on his fingers, then let go of it; the parchment had disintegrated into ash before it hit the ground.

Another glance at his clock told him he had twelve minutes now (bloody hell, when was the last time he was so specific about how much time he had until a class? Likely not since he was a student.) and he was pondering whether that was going to be enough time to fall asleep when _another_ tapping at his door brought him to his feet.

A _fourth_ 'urgent' owl, and if this was another invitation to dinner or… He flicked it open, and his scowl darkened by degrees as he read it.

Severus,

Molly Firecalled this morning and said she would fix dinner for us tonight, so if you like, why don't you come about two hours early? She said she'd bake a cake if you'll come.

RJL

"Urgent owls about dinner plans," he muttered under his breath, dropping _that_ missive in his desk drawer as well. A glance at the clock told him he now had nine minutes, and, with a defeated sigh, he straightened and ran his hands through his hair. With a yawn, he reached into his desk drawer and withdrew the parchment that had arrived from Lucius, looking it over for a minute before opening it, almost dreading what Malfoy had up his sleeve _now_.

Dear Friend and Fellow Slytherin!

You are cordially invited to a gathering at the Malfoy Manor from Friday, June 10th through Sunday, June 12th. Narcissa and I are pleased to announce that, in light of the merriment of a recent impromptu reunion, we have decided to see it an annual and organized occurrence.

This invitation is being extended to all Slytherins, past and present, and we look forward to hearing from you.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy

The RSVP cards were also enclosed, as well as the envelope to send it back to them, and Severus simply shook his head. A Slytherin reunion. He could already imagine what that was going to entail. A Slytherin reunion which, if he read correctly, was also going to include the students. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at the thought of two hundred children running around the Malfoy Manor, and he made a silent bet as to whether the children would be invited the next year—if it was, indeed, to become an annual event.

Sighing, he dropped the invitation back into his drawer. He'd respond to it later, though he doubted it was really necessary. Lucius, after all, would simply expect him to be present, and Severus quite seriously doubted that there was anything short of death that would convince Malfoy he couldn't come. After all, he was Head of Slytherin, one of Lucius' old classmates, somewhat beholden still to the patrician Malfoy for his role in seeing that an awkward young Severus was able to move in the proper circles without offending or embarrassing anyone. And besides, Lucius probably knew as well as anyone that there was nothing except his books to occupy Severus' time in the summer, and books would wait, in Malfoy's eyes.

"And why not?" Severus asked softly, leaning back against his chair. He had to admit that last night had been… enjoyable on some level. Disturbing, of course, and a painfully poignant reminder of the past, but it was so seldom he had the pleasure of adult company that was not laced with any other business. It had been no Death Eater meeting, and no Order meeting, and no Staff meeting last night. Of course they'd discussed politics. Along with Quidditch, the weather, reminiscences and gossip (though Lucius maintained, quite laughably, that he did _not_ gossip). It was as though, for four hours, they were all simply pretending to be human, and humans with something in common in their past.

His stomach suddenly lurched. Of course there were other reasons for this gathering. It was so easy to associate Slytherin with the Death Eaters that it was quite easy to forget that, in reality, there were relatively few Death Eaters to the numbers of Slytherins through the years. Everyone in Lucius year, and the two years prior and the two years following, either was or had been a Death Eater, but they were all. After the Dark Lord was defeated, there had been fifteen years worth of Slytherins who, while sharing the same prejudices that Slytherins had through the centuries, been no more evil than… Well, than McGonagall really. Everyone was entitled to their opinions, even if the opinion was distasteful.

Those just a little younger than Severus would not likely remember the horrors of the Dark Lord's rise to power. They would not remember the fear, the death of innocents, the division of their world into two irreconcilable sides. And they were poised to move into positions of power in the world. Young adults, Bill's age, mostly. They needed… They needed to turn back time so Lucius and the others could be executed. Not imprisoned. He would have to make that clear to Dumbledore, that this time, the Death Eaters would have to be _executed_. Himself included, if that was what it took. This party of Malfoy's… it was nothing more than a grand recruiting party, and with, in Severus' estimation, a thousand Slytherins of various ages to choose from. Three thousand being a low estimate, of course. If all the living Slytherins actually attended that number would easily double. Of course, it was not the ones of advanced age who were to be worried about, generally, with age came a degree of wisdom, after all. It was those caught up in the passion of youth who were at a risk.

The bell announcing the beginning of the next class startled Severus out of his reverie, and he stormed out of his office, pointing his wand at the dungeon doors so they creaked open to admit the students. His Sixth Year NEWT class, which would be creating a Sublatum Serum.

"Quiet," he said in a warning tone, though it was hardly necessary as he made his way to the front of the classroom. When he reached his desk, he pointed his wand at the doors again and they banged shut with an air of finality that made several students jump. "I presume that you have all done your assigned reading?" There were no protests, though Severus rather seriously doubted any of the students would actually be stupid enough to _admit_ to not having read the assigned material. "Are there any questions?" He schooled his features to what passed for approachable; he knew that his students were terrified of him, and that served a purpose, but he was always marginally afraid they weren't asking him questions because they feared his reaction. As was so often the case, no one offered any questions.

"Well," he said briskly, "then it should come as no surprise to you all that we will be making a Sublatum Serum today. And a Sublatum Serum is… Mr. Malfoy?"

Severus didn't know why Malfoy was in his class. He couldn't imagine the boy doing anything other than following in his fathers footsteps in the Ministry, for which he most decidedly did _not_ need advanced potions. In fact, all he really needed was his father's name. Still, Malfoy at least put forth the effort for class, and if he was an arrogant little snot, at least he was quite honestly there by choice. Something Severus could say for few of his students. Most of them were there because it was an evil they must endure for their chosen fields in Medicine and Aurory.

"Sublatum Serum is a potion which levitates objects. It is, in essence, the chemical form of _Wingardium Leviosa_."

"Ten points to Slytherin." Severus had been slowly working through the common spells the students had learned in their first and second years, and he hoped at least some of the more astute ones were learning that there were few charms that could not be duplicated with a potion. "And, I presume you have all completed your homework? Pass it forward then, _quietly_." He watched as the faint shuffle of scrolls being passed forward rose like butterflies on a breeze. When the scrolls had reached the inner aisles, students began passing them forward until they reached the baskets in front of the first row of desks.

Severus' eyes locked onto Harry's, and he suddenly delved into the boy's mind. Harry scowled at him, obviously knowing he was there, and Severus found himself deflected away from a memory of Harry and Ron browbeating Hermione into letting them copy off her homework. Smirking, Severus turned away from him. "Someone tell me, then, given the nature of the potion we will be brewing, the purpose of each of these ingredients," he pointed his wand at the blackboard and a list of ingredients appeared. He moved to lean against his desk, folding his arms across his chest, his wand still clutched in his right hand. "Mr. Potter," he honed in on the Boy Who Lived, pointing with his wand, "choose one of the ingredients and tell me why it is there."

Potter frowned and studied the board for a minute. "The Billywig stings," he said finally, "they are active ingredients because a Billywig sting causes people to float." Severus delved suddenly into Potter's mind again, and, as expected, he saw the scene at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, though it was Potter flicking Billywigs into a jar. He lingered for a moment, chasing one memory and then another, trying to find any indication of where the memory was taking place, but all he could see was the darkened room full of Billywigs. And then suddenly it was a scene of two men, a boy, a girl and a woman floating in the air with a table laid out for tea.

"Very good, Mr. Potter," Severus breathed softly. "Ten points to Gryffindor." There was a gasp and a murmur through the room; Professor Snape never awarded points to any house except Slytherin, and he usually found reasons to take them away from Gryffindor if Harry was within a ten mile radius. Severus' eyes held Potter's for another moment before he turned away, making sure that Harry knew that the points were for his success at Occlumency rather than the correct answer.

"Miss Parkinson," Severus glanced at Pansy. "Another of the ingredients."

"The water is a non-active ingredient," she replied promptly, and Severus nearly shook his head. Leave it to Pansy to point out the most obvious ones.

"Correct. Five points to Slytherin. Miss Granger?"

"The Alihotsy leaves are a catalytic ingredient, which activate the Billywig stings. The hysteria-inducing properties of Alihotsy are enough to simulate the laughter of the Billywigs."

Severus scowled. _Such_ a show-off and know-it-all. Reminded him of Black who could never keep his knowledge to himself either. "Correct. Mr. Lowry?"

One by one, he called on the students until they'd correctly identified half the ingredients' purposes. Enough for Severus' purposes at the present, as this was really Seventh Year material anyway. He flicked his wand at the board and the rest of the instructions appeared, and then he pointed his wand at the cabinets on the wall, and the doors swung open, revealing the required ingredients. "Begin," he told them simply, and returned to his desk, seating himself so that he could supervise the class from this vantage point that allowed him to view all areas of the room at once.

Twice Severus found himself on the verge of nodding off, and both times he reawakened with a start. Of all the disastrous things he could think of to do, he could _not_ imagine the consequences of falling asleep while a group of Sixth Years was attempting to brew a potion of a reasonable degree of complexity. Which is exactly what this potion was. Reasonably complex, with several places that would allow the students to regally muck it up. Standing, he stifled a yawn and began making a round of the classroom.

"You should be adding your Alihotsy leaves now," he announced in a clear voice that, while loud enough to carry over the din of the work, was still soft. He saw several students glance quickly at the board and then frown at their cauldrons, their Alihotsy still on the table beside them. _Good_, he thought as he passed a pair of Hufflepuffs. They were behind, but had not yet reached the critical portion of the potion, which he'd indicated with a green line, so, while lagging a bit, there was no need to rush. Adding the Alihotsy too soon would render it useless, as the mixture had to simmer to the proper consistency before adding the Billywig stings, and if the Alihotsy simmered too long, the delicate leaves would disintegrate.

He paused at a Ravenclaw cauldron and peered inside, then peered into the faces of the two students. Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin peered back, both seeming to hold their breath. "What color is the vapor supposed to be, Miss Turpin?" he asked softly, and she swallowed, her eyes cutting to the board very quickly, then back to his face.

"Blue," she replied confidently.

Padma continued her slow, even stirring, and Severus nodded. A thin, wispy, pale blue haze was beginning to curl from the mouth of the cauldron. "Indeed," he murmured softly, then raised his voice again. "Ten points to Ravenclaw, for what appears to be the most perfect mixture to this point that I have seen in a student's cauldron." Padma and Lisa exchanged elated looks, and Severus heard a mutter from behind him.

"Snape must be in a good mood. First Gryffindor, now Ravenclaw."

The comment seemed innocuous enough, so he pretended not to hear it. He did, however, lower his voice again. "Keep up the good work, ladies," he suggested quietly. "I will take those points away and more besides if you spoil your potion now." He stalked over to the Slytherin tables, leaving Padma and Lisa gaping after him, and peered into the cauldron Pansy Parkinson shared with Draco Malfoy.

After watching for a moment, he reached for the glass rod Pansy was using to stir and stirred the brew himself for a moment, then, when satisfied of the consistency, returned the rod to her. "Are your stings ready?" he asked, reaching to the end of the table and drawing a stool around so he could sit.

Draco nodded, and Severus waved his fingers slightly at him, indicating it was time for the stings. As Draco added them, one at a time with a pair of silver forceps, Severus peered at the surface of the potion. It bubbled nicely as the stings were added. A moment later, the entire contents were beginning to turn a much more brilliant shade of blue, glimmering with a touch of green.

"How did you know it was time for the stings, sir?" Pansy asked, looking up at him as she stirred. "The instructions said five minutes, and it had only been four."

"Then you cauldron is too hot," Severus replied, bending to peer at the flames. He pointed at the bulbous edge with his wand. "Reduce the flames to there," he advised. "And I know because I've been brewing potions since your father was still in school."

Standing, Severus moved his stool back to the end of the table and walked briskly across the room again, then stopped abruptly at the table Hermione was sharing with Neville Longbottom. _How_ Longbottom had scraped the Outstanding on the Potions OWL, Severus would never know, nor would he ever know _how_ the idiot boy hoped to become an Auror. But, where there was a will, he supposed there was a way. The way he was going to pass this class was with the aid of one Hermione Granger. Peering into the cauldron, Severus noted the softly shimmering surface of the liquid and nodded at the wisps of bright blue that were swirling over the edge. The vapors were not so pale as the ones Padma and Lisa had coaxed from their cauldron, but they would suffice to indicate that the potion Hermione and Neville (well, mostly Hermione most likely) were brewing would be a success. "Add another sting, Mr. Longbottom," Severus suggested softly, pushing one from the pile with the tip of his wand.

It was enough to incite Severus' temper that Neville looked at _Hermione_ before doing as he was told, but at least Hermione had the sense nod fervently and gesture at him under the table. Neville took a deep breath and added another Billywig sting, and the cauldron hissed slightly, then the smoke paled substantially. After a moment's watching the potion, Severus turned to Neville and folded his arms, looking over the two students. "Since you seem so much more inclined to follow Miss Granger's instructions than mine, Mr. Longbottom, you have earned her a detention."

"But!"

Severus held up a hand to silence Hermione's protest, and then bent over Neville. "So that I may assure myself that she knows the material adequately to teach the next lesson. You, Mr. Longbottom, will also serve detention, where we will practice the fine art of _obedience_. Six o'clock tomorrow, Miss Granger. Mr. Longbottom, seven o'clock." Severus whirled away, feeling only a slight pang of conscience at the undeserved detention for Hermione. He needed to ask her about Amber, though. "Oh, and I believe that's twenty points from Gryffindor," he added as an afterthought, glancing over his shoulder. "Ten points for the disobedience, Mr. Longbottom, and ten points, Miss Granger, for backtalk." Hermione fumed silently. Severus ignored her and turned to the cauldron Harry and Ron were sharing.

He no more than looked inside before he jerked his head back unwittingly, his eyes watering slightly as he stared at the two Gryffindors. "What is _that_, Mr. Potter?" he asked in a dangerous voice, stepping back and pointing with his wand.

"Sublatum Serum?" Harry suggested, and Ron snickered. Severus shot Weasley a quelling look until the red-haired boy gulped his laughter back down.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what color is a Sublatum Serum?"

"Blue, sir."

"Mr. Weasley, what color is the mixture in Miss Granger's and Mr. Longbottom's cauldron?"

"Blue, sir."

"Mr. Potter, what color is the mixture in Mr. Malfoy's and Miss Parkinson's cauldron?"

"Blue, sir."

"Mr. Weasley, what color is the mixture in Miss Patil's and Miss Turpin's cauldron?"

"Blue, sir."

"Mr. Potter, what color is the mixture in Miss Bones' and Mr. Hopkins' cauldron?"

"_Blue,_ sir." Harry was beginning to sound exasperated.

Good, Severus thought irritably. _It's his turn to be irritated for a change._ "And what color, pray tell, is _that_, Mr. Weasley?" Severus asked, pointing at the cauldron with his wand.

Ron sighed heavily. "Yellow, sir."

"Yellow." Severus folded his arms and looked at the two boys. It would really serve them right if he left them to their concoction, but he wasn't going to. "How many Alihotsy leaves did you add?"

The two boys exchanged glances, and Severus scowled. The idiots didn't even know. They'd added leaves, and they had _no idea_ how many they'd put in their cauldron. _And these are the boys we're trusting as adults in the Order,_ Severus thought distantly as he leaned forward, his hands braced on the table, bringing his nose within inches of Harry's.

"Did you add the leaves, Mr. Potter?" he asked softly, nodding, and Harry began nodding miserably as well.

"Did you add leaves as well, Mr. Weasley?" he asked, turning his attention to Ron, who was white-faced under his freckles and nodding also.

"So you _both_ added Alihotsy leaves. Did you _both_ add Billywig stings?"

Harry looked at Ron, who shook his head, wide eyed. "No, sir," Harry replied, looking like he wished the floor would open up and swallow him.

"Did _either_ of you add Billywig stings?"

Harry looked positively miserable. "No, sir," he whispered.

Severus straightened suddenly and pointed his wand at the cauldron. "_Evanesco!"_ he barked, and the potion disappeared. "Detention," he hissed, pointing his wand at Potter first, then at Weasley. "Both of you. You will be redoing this potion on Saturday."

"But sir! It's a Hogsmeade weekend!"

Severus' eyes narrowed. "I daresay you are more in need of a decent mark this term than another bag full of goodies from Honeydukes," he told them in a deadly voice. "And neither of you has any room to protest, given that you were too busy _talking_ to follow the directions that were _clearly_ written on the board!"

Severus turned on his heel and was halfway across the dungeon before he heard the unmistakable sound of Harry's voice. "Asshole."

His eyes widened for a moment, and Severus took a deep breath, counting slowly to ten and then reciting the alphabet backwards before he turned abruptly, walking across the room once more. Harry's eyes widened as Severus drew nearer, but he breathed an audible sigh of relief when Severus passed his table and stalked, instead, to a book shelf against the wall. Severus reached for a book with sure hands and plucked it from the shelf, holding the spine against his arm and flipping through the pages as he returned to stand in front of Potter and Weasley. He dropped the book on their table with enough force to rattle their phials.

"Read the ingredients for the Singultus Potion, Mr. Potter. _Aloud_."

Harry looked at the potion, and frowned, but began reading in a shaky voice. "Alihotsy leaves, water, essence of wormwood, powdered hickory nut, daisy roots, crushed prune seeds, blue-jay blood, grape seed oil and bluebell petals."

"Now, read the ingredients on the board for the Sublatum Serum," Severus prompted, his eyes beads of obsidian and focused unwaveringly on Potter's face.

"Alihotsy leaves, water, essence of wormwood, powdered hickory nut, Billywig stings, daisy roots, crushed prune seeds, blue-jay blood, grape seed oil and bluebell petals."

"What ingredient is missing from the Singultus Potion which is present in the Sublatum Serum, Mr. Potter?"

"Billywig stings," Potter said miserably.

"And what is the quantity of Alihotsy leaves in the Singultus Potion compared to the Sublatum Serum?"

Harry looked at the book, then looked at the board and sighed, sitting back. "Double, sir."

"And what color is the Singultus Potion, Mr. Potter?"

"Yellow." Harry had his eyes closed.

"So, if you and your partner each added Alihotsy leaves, and neither of you added Billywig stings, and the potion was _yellow_, what is a logical conclusion?"

"That we messed up, _sir,_" Harry replied evenly.

Severus leaned forward, his hands on the table again, and he jabbed at the book. "That you made which potion instead, Mr. Potter?"

"The Singultus Potion, _sir_."

"Mr. Weasley," Severus shoved the book at Ron, not looking away from Harry for a moment. "Read the description of the Singultus Potion for the class."

Ron took the book and swallowed audibly, but Severus did not look at him. "The Singultus Potion is a powerful…" he paused, and Severus shot him a withering look. "A powerful poison. The fumes alone are deadly after as little as fifteen minutes exposure. Inhaling the fumes will cause erosion of the throat, and the victim will drown in his or her own blood." Each word was increasingly soft. Harry looked horrified, as though he were about to cry. Severus cut a glance to Ron, lifted an eyebrow and gestured at the book. Ron licked his lips and continued. "There is no record of anyone surviving more than half an hour exposure to the fumes. Ingested, the potion causes severe stomach cramps, and dissolves the internal organs, beginning with the stomach, and then liquefying the intestines and pancreas. The death is quite prolonged and painful, but it is seldom the poison itself which kills the victim. In most documented cases, the victim will begin to suffer seizures of such magnitude that the neck snaps."

There _were_ tears in Harry's eyes now, and Ron's voice was shaking. Most of the other sounds in the room had faded to almost nothing, only the faint bubbling of liquid in cauldrons and the slow, methodical scraping of glass rods against pewter. "_Continue_, Mr. Weasley," Severus ordered.

Ron's voice shook even more as he continued reading. "The Singultus Potion is the deadliest legal substance in the wizarding community. As all the ingredients are common, it remains legal despite numerous attempts by citizens' groups to have it declared a controlled substance. The only known antidote must be administered within thirty minutes of ingesting the poison, and even then, there is only a fifty percent rate of survival. Death from the Singultus Potion usually takes between sixteen hours and two days."

There was utter silence. Severus stood abruptly and picked up the book again, shutting it was a _snap_ and stalking back to the bookshelf, shoving it back into place. He turned to look at the class again. Every one of his students was subdued, including the Slytherins who would normally miss no chance to make fun of the Gryffindors for their mistakes.

"Is it clear to you now, Potter?" Severus asked softly. "Do you understand, Mr. Weasley? Mr. Longbottom? Miss Granger? Miss Patil? Miss Turpin?" He looked at each of his students as he named them. "Have I made it _real_ to you, Mr. Malfoy? Miss Parkinson? Miss Bones? Mr. Hopkins?" He crossed the room in three steps and regarded them all for a moment before returning his gaze to Harry and Ron. "This is not a form of _amusement_," he said in a voice like snow. "This is not the creation of a stew, where the only price of failure is an inedible end result. It is _crucial_ that you _follow instructions_, Mr. Potter. It is _imperative_ that you _pay attention,_ Mr. Weasley. Often, what separates a benign potion from a deadly one is a careless mistake, such as doubling the Alihotsy leaves and leaving out the Billywig stings."

He narrowed his eyes and his focus further, taking Potter in carefully. "I am not in the habit of explaining myself to _anyone,_ least of all students. But I _hope_ you have _benefited_ from this departure from the norm. Now, _get out of my classroom._" He pointed at the door, and Harry traded looks with Ron, and both of them gathered their things and left quietly. "The rest of you, you should be finishing up. When you have completed your potion, bottle a sample of it, and bring it to my desk. And _label_ it. We will test them in class next time, after they've had time to cure."

Severus returned to his desk and sat, watching the class carefully. _Why_ did he feel such a need to explain himself suddenly? To defend his actions? He was the teacher, the Potions Master, and Harry and Ron were his students, and that should be enough to explain anything he did. And _why_ hadn't he doubled Harry's detention for calling him an asshole? Why did he care, anyway? And _why in the name of Merlin's beard could those two not pay attention just once?_

Severus ripped a piece of parchment from his desk drawer and tore it in half. He quickly penned two notes—one to Autumn and one to Lupin, declining both invitations to dinner. He was very suddenly not hungry at all.


	30. Mercy

"Hey, Severus, there's some girl outside who says she really needs to talk to you." Tonks stretched as she walked into the kitchen, as though such an announcement was an everyday occurrence at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. As she lifted her hands above her head, the hem of her shirt came up, revealing a tiny ring in her belly button.

"Hey, cool! When did you get that?" Ginny asked, moving over to get a better look. Tonks grinned, raising her shirt halfway to her small breasts to show off the jewel.

"Yesterday. Pretty nifty, isn't it?"

"What kind of girl?" Severus asked, ignoring the belly button ring, and the belly, and Ginny. He'd only barely arrived himself, and was still trying to wake from the precious thirty minutes of sleep he'd found in his office after his last class had been dismissed.

"I dunno. Some girl with red hair and green eyes. Said it's about autumn."

"A witch?" Moody asked, and Tonks shook her head.

"Don't think so."

"You mean you let a _Muggle_ see you coming in here?!"

"No, Mad-Eye. I told her to wait on the other side of Number Eleven. She seemed pretty affable after I promised I'd tell Severus she was out there."

A red-headed Muggle who wanted to talk about Autumn. Severus felt as though the bottom had dropped out of his stomach and he pushed away from the table quickly, even as Moody turned his criticism on him. "You told a _Muggle_ where we are?" he asked incredulously.

"That's right, Moody, I took out an ad in the _Times_, too. I hope that was acceptable?" Severus rolled his eyes as he headed into the hall.

"Tonks, Shacklebolt, you two should go with him. Keep an eye on him."

I'm not going to put any of us in danger, you imbecile. Not that I wouldn't mind being rid of you, but that would necessitate putting myself in danger as well, and I have too much regard for my own skin. "Whatever," Severus replied over his shoulder. "But I'm not waiting for anyone."

"Severus, what's going on?"

That voice was Remus' and Severus did slow half a step to fill him in. "A Muggle with red hair and green eyes and a message about Autumn," he replied, exchanging a meaningful look with the werewolf. Remus was the only one to whom any of that would be relevant.

"I'll come with you."

Severus burst out of the front door, Lupin close on his heels, then Tonks and Shacklbolt right behind them. "Willow!" Severus exclaimed as he came to a halt on the sidewalk, the others filling in behind him.

"Cool!" she exclaimed, ducking to peer at the space between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen. "How did you do that?"

"It's like breathing," Severus replied impatiently, using her own words from lunch on Saturday. She grinned, and he knew she understood that particular line of conversation was over with. "What are you doing here?"

"More importantly, how did you find here?" Shacklebolt obviously had different priorities than Severus.

"No, more importantly, what are you doing here? What about Autumn?"

"Oh." Willow looked at Severus for a long moment, her eyes locking onto his and instinctively he closed his mind, once more not knowing why he bothered. She was, after all, just a Muggle. "Autumn needs you, Severus."

He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, relief flushing over him. "I wish I could spend a quiet evening with her too, but…"

"Is this about a girl?" Tonks asked. Severus pointedly ignored her.

"No, she _needs_ you, Severus. Urgently. I think…" she cast a look at his companions, frowning slightly. "I can't explain it. But you must go to her. It's critical."

"Willow, do you know something?" She was quiet, and he barely resisted the urge to shake her. "Do you _think _you know something?"

"Do you have any idea what this is about, Remus?" Shacklebolt again.

"Some vague idea that doesn't need explaining here and now," Remus replied smoothly.

"I never know…"

"Damnit, Willow, I need to know what you're doing here, and I need you to give me a straight answer!" He did clutch her shoulders this time, and he shook her slightly.

"I think…" Willow looked over his shoulder, and then back into his eyes. "I think she's in danger. But it's so hard to say… Earlier I thought you were just going to…"

"Severus, we'll be inside," Tonks was saying.

"What kind of danger?"

"I don't know," Willow insisted. "Men. A lot of them. And there's something with a snake and… I just don't know."

Severus let go of her abruptly and caught Remus' eye. "I have to go," he said simply.

Remus nodded. "I'll take care of things here."

"Where are you going?" Tonks asked, wide-eyed. Shacklebolt was already disappearing back into headquarters.

"She's a friend of mine and… I can't explain it, Tonks, not now, but I have to go. I can't leave it to chance."

Tonks nodded. "Right. Then I'm going with you."

"So am I," Bill had appeared suddenly. "And Moody's coming too. Where are we going?"

"Westminster," Severus answered promptly. "There's an abandoned tube station called Aldwych." Without another word, he Disapparated, and Apparated again in the station in question.

"Lumos," he murmured, holding out his wand, and a light appeared on the end of it. He didn't wait for his companions, but did hear a trio of popping sounds as they appeared.

"Are you sure this is an abandoned station?" came Tonks' nervous-sounding voice.

"Quite," Severus replied. "Come on." He led them up the stairs, and through the station which was littered with graffiti and dirt. He hopped soundlessly over the grill that served to block the station from most law-abiding citizens, though the litter of broken bottles and fast food wrappers and cigarette butts showed that not everyone in London was so law-abiding as all that.

They emerged onto Strand, and Severus led the way past Kings College and half a dozen streets before pointing to the building where Autumn lived. "She's on the second floor," he said softly, his wand in his pocket again, but within easy reach. Tonks and Bill both looked as though they belonged here, so close to the college, with their modern, Muggle looks. Severus, over the last week, had learned not to be conspicuous in London, but that was when he was wearing Muggle street clothes instead of robes, as he was now. Even so, he did not look so out of place as Moody, who stuck out like a sore thumb.

Severus rang the bell, and after a moment, the door to the building opened, admitting the four of them. Up the stairs, three doors down on the right, Severus paused. "What can you see?" he asked Moody. Moody shook his head.

"Nothing," he replied. "There's a woman in there dancing with a spoon."

Tonks snickered. "Well, Willow said she needed you; she didn't say for what. Maybe you're a better dance partner than… hey!"

Someone had obviously elbowed her, but Severus didn't pause to see why. He lifted his hand and knocked firmly on the door, and, after a moment, Autumn opened it, grinning. Her smile faded somewhat when she saw his companions, and Severus could almost see her disappointment that he wasn't alone.

"Severus!" she flung her arms around him. "Willow said you'd be he—"

"I hate to be rude, Autumn, but may we come in?"

"Of course," she replied, stepping aside, her eyes widening slightly at the sight of Moody, her smile broadening at Bill.

When the door was firmly shut, Severus looked around. "Are you all right, Autumn?" he asked, concern still edging his voice.

"Of course," she repeated lightly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

His eyes scanned the room, and he could tell that Moody was doing the same, which was something of a relief. For once, Severus was quite glad to have the ex-Auror with his magical eye.

"Willow said something that—"

"I'm sorry I'm not really ready and… I was so busy… you aren't really dressed for dinner either, are you?"

The sinking feeling in the pit of Severus' stomach had returned, but now it had little to do with concern for Autumn's safety. "Dinner?" he asked weakly.

"Yes. She said you'd be here around eight, and…" the clock began chiming, and Severus wasn't the only wizard who looked at it. He was, however, the only one who grimaced at seeing it read eight o'clock. He lifted his hand to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose, suddenly in possession of a headache.

"Snape, is this your idea of a joke?" Moody folded his arms across his chest and was glaring pointedly at Severus. Tonks, damn the woman, looked _amused._

"No, it isn't," Severus replied evenly, then looked at Autumn. "Is it? Because if it is, I'm not laughing."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Willow said you'd be here to pick me up for dinner, but it was just after noon when she told me that, and I didn't think you were coming so I didn't come in and get dressed like I should have and... What's going on?"

"I don't know," he replied. "But I think I have more than a few choice words for _Willow_." He looked around the flat once more. "You're sure everything is fine?" he asked.

"Positive."

He sighed again and leaned forward, kissing her cheek. "I have to go," he said softly. "I'm sorry for bothering you, Autumn. I'll… we'll have dinner some time next week, maybe, all right?" She looked a bit deflated, but nodded.

"Come on," Severus muttered, avoiding the others' eyes. "I was wrong."

He opened the door, but had no sooner touched the knob when a searing pain wrenched through him, starting on his arm. He clutched his arm suddenly, and stopped dead in his tracks.

"Severus?" Tonks asked, and he caught her eye, then looked at Moody, whom he knew understood what was happening.

"Get Autumn out of here," he hissed, and then, defying all laws, Disapparated from the spot and into the closet at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, where he snatched his cloak and mask, donning them quickly and Disapparated again.

The seconds he lost retrieving cloak and mask were enough to mark him as the third to last of the Death Eaters to arrive at the Dark Lord's side, and, as he crawled across the ground, a sense of dread crept over him. He had not been successful in convincing the Dark Lord that his predicament of location was worthy of leniency when it came to being late, and the last meeting had begun with anger over stragglers. Of which Severus was now one. There were five of them still on the ground, and suddenly the Dark Lord stepped away, denying the two in front of Severus the privilege of kissing the hem of his robes.

"I believe that the last time we gathered, I promised that the five who showed up latest would receive a special reward," he hissed. "And that would be you five. Stand, all of you, and be thankful that we haven't the time for this fun to be drawn out. Malfoy! Crabbe! Goyle! Avery! Nott! Show these men what it means to be late."

It was Crabbe who hauled Snape up with a beefy hand on his arm, then stepped back, radiating a pleasure that even cloak and mask could not conceal. "_Crucio_!" he yelled, and Snape was only vaguely aware of the same curse being applied to the others. It was as though his veins had been filled with molten lightning, and his head wrenched back, a scream issuing from his throat as pain ripped through every pore of his body. He was left panting, collapsed on ground, barely able to support himself with his hands for a moment, his head spinning and ears ringing. After a moment, he struggled to his feet and took his place in the circle, still panting.

"Thank you, my Lord," he forced out between ragged gasps.

One by one, the other four found their places in the circle, and they, too, thanked the Dark Lord. For teaching them a very effective lesson.

"This evening, my Death Eaters," came the dry hiss of Voldemort's voice, "we gather for an impromptu celebration. This woman," he lifted his wand, and slowly a figure squeezed from the end of it, like a blob of gelatin coming to a wavering rest on the ground. Snape couldn't hear another word the Dark Lord was saying, though. He was too busy being horrified at the image before him. It was not, as he had been half afraid, Autumn. It was Willow, her silken red hair seeming to wave in the wind. Snape felt ill.

"Go, now, to Westminster, where she was last seen entering a flat. And, any you find besides her, you may keep for your own pleasure. Go!"

The popping around him of Wizards Disapparating made Snape gather his nerves. He hadn't heard where they were directed, but he knew, without a doubt, where they were going. He Disapparated as well, and when he reappeared, it was in front of Autumn's flat, along with half a dozen other Death Eaters.

The effects of the Cruciatus Curse were still hampering his senses, or perhaps he would have realized that something was different. Something was very different.

"_Alohamora_," murmured a voice that could have only belonged to Lucius Malfoy, and the door swung open gently. To Severus' great relief, there was no sign of Autumn. Lucius used his wand to direct Crabbe and Goyle to stand watch outside the door, then the rest of them inside. Avery and Nott peeled off to the left, the Lestranges to the right. Snape and Macnair headed straight ahead, and Snape had to make a point not to be too sure of his step in what was supposed to be a strange flat.

"_Impedimenta_!" A flash of sparks rained down on them suddenly, and Severus aimed his wand at the direction of the attack.

"_Protego_!" he yelled, ducking out of the way, and suddenly chaos broke out all over the small flat. Cries of '_Impedimenta'_ and '_Crucio'_ were interspersed with crashes as vases were knocked over and bookshelves collapsed. 'Reducto' and 'Diffindo' were punctuated with muttered curses as people ran into furniture and walls, and slowly, the battle began to take form.

Snape found himself facing off with Remus Lupin, and for a moment, he hoped that the other Wizard would not push him too hard. Snape knew he could defend himself, but he wasn't sure he could keep the other man from harm at the same time.

"Well," Lupin said softly, "looks as though we were right all along, doesn't it? Always knew you were more interested in the Dark Arts than in the Defense Against…" Lupin threw a Stinging Hex at him, and Snape deflected it.

"How I've waited for this day," Snape replied, his eyes narrowing into beads of obsidian. _Do not forget who he is,_ he reminded himself. "_Stupefy!"_

"Protego! Stupefy!"

Severus sidestepped the worst of the sparks, but felt the curse hit him, and for a moment, he was immobilized. Lupin started to back away, though, and Snape forced his wand to cooperate. "_Incendio!_" he hissed, and a fire started at Lupin's robes. While the werewolf was busy with his robes, Severus sent a Conjunctivitis Spell towards him, with the desired effect, and Lupin stumbled backwards.

"_Stupefy_!"

Snape was still once more, caught by a curse he couldn't quite deflect, and with a distant part of his mind, he heard Malfoy crying "Fall back! Retreat, damn it! Get the fuck out of here!"

"Don't worry," Lupin was whispering as he made the pretense of trying to disarm Severus. "Autumn is safe. She's back at Headquarters."

"Get the hell out of here," Snape hissed through clenched teeth, and suddenly lurched forward, putting all his energy into defeating the stunning spell. He was scrambling to his feet when he suddenly heard a voice behind him.

"Snape! Move! _Avada—"_

Lupin dove aside, and, with a glance over his shoulder at Avery, Snape made up his mind quickly. He raised his wand directly to the other wizard and hissed, "_Crucio_!" then turned away, trying to block out the scream that wrenched from Lupin's mouth. _It's better than the killing curse,_ he thought desperately towards Lupin by way of apology. As he Disapparated, though, he could still hear Lupin's scream ringing through his ears.

Apparating at the Dark Lord's side was not a thought that Snape relished, but he didn't have long to dread it. And, at least he wasn't the first one there. Somehow, being one of the last made it seem that he was more loyal, that he'd held out longer. The Dark Lord was fuming.

"What happened?" he hissed, pointing his wand at Nott, who collapsed in a screaming fit.

"They knew, my lord. They were waiting for us," Lucius replied, his voice calm enough to fool most, but Severus could hear the edge of fear in it. And little wonder. After all, the Dark Lord was _far_ from pleased.

"And how did they know?" he asked, stepping towards Malfoy. "How indeed. It would seem that we have a leak among us. It isn't you, is it Malfoy? _Crucio!_"

This time it was Malfoy's screams that pierced the night, and he collapsed into a sobbing heap on the ground. "N-no, my Lord," he gasped.

"Was it you, Crabbe? _Crucio!_" A great roar ripped from Crabbe's throat, until he, too, was on the ground, shaking.

"N-n-no, my Lord," he whispered.

"Was it you, Goyle? _Crucio!"_

One by one, the Dark Lord asked each of the assembled Death Eaters if it had been he who revealed the plan, and one by one, they were subjected to the Cruciatus curse, and collapsed, quivering, onto the ground. No one admitted to the charge, and Severus found himself staring at the wand of the feared Dark Lord.

"Was it you, Snape?" he asked softly, and Snape shook his head, but to no avail. _"Crucio!"_ For a second time that evening, Snape felt his blood turn to liquid fire, and he cried out sharply as the pain coursed through his body, as though it was ripping out his entrails.

He collapsed to the ground, his fingers burying in the soft, cool grass, struggling valiantly to stand again, struggling to keep control of his mind while his body was subjected to such torture. "N-no, my Lord," he wheezed, and the Dark Lord moved on.

"No one, it seems, wishes to admit to it. Perhaps we should try again. Was it you, Malfoy?"

"No, my Lord, pl-please, I sw-swear i—" the pleading was interrupted by Lucius' screams as the Cruciatus Curse was applied again. And again on each of them, including Snape, who was barely able to hold onto his consciousness after three rounds of it. And then the Dark Lord made the circuit again. This time, half the Death Eaters were whimpering, begging to be believed. Snape could no longer stand, but he refused to beg and whimper, and kept his silence when the curse was not actively applied to him.

After four rounds, the Dark Lord stepped into the middle of the circle again. "Dolohov!" he cried, "and Avery. You two may go." The two of them disappeared. "Nott! Macnair! You two may go." Two at a time, the circle was reduced, and finally, when there were only six of them left, Snape's name was called, and he was released as well. He heard the Dark Lord's words just drifting on the soft breeze: "It would make sense that the one who leaked the information is one who knew about it. That leaves you four. Either through stupidity or treachery, but think carefully, my slippery Malfoy. What do you know about tonight's failure?"

Severus Disapparated before he had to hear the screams again. He'd had quite enough of _Crucio _for one night.

* * *

The bedroom on the third floor, abandoned to all but spiders and dust bunnies, was as dark and quiet as he'd expected it would be when he Apparated into it. Hands shaking, heart pounding, head spinning, knees weak, Severus doffed his mask and cloak, and let them fall onto the unmade bed. He'd do something with them later. After he had faced the horde downstairs.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the after-effects of Cruciatus raked through him as he thought of going into that crowd. He could hear them, the noises that were inherent when so many were gathered in a house—footsteps, doors opening and closing, murmurs of voices and the occasional bang he couldn't account for. A quick mental head-count of who all had been in Autumn's flat and who all had been here before he'd departed and who all was expected to be there at some point, and Severus very nearly collapsed from the sheer horror attached to the thought of going downstairs and facing them all.

They were not likely to be happy with him. His mind—or at least the part of it that wasn't numb with pain—was whirling ever-faster around his excuse. Had he not cast the _cruciatus_, Avery would have cast a curse instead. Only Avery would not have been so kind.

Kind. He nearly snorted at the thought, holding his hands in front of him and watching as they shook uncontrollably, giving him the appearance of a very old, frail man suddenly. The _cruciatus _was a curse that enraged every nerve in one's body, making them all simultaneously spasm, and Severus knew that he would likely be shaking for days to come. He would be shaking, because his body had grown somewhat accustomed to the curse, being that the body is a highly adaptable creation. Remus, of course, would not think he had been kind.

A wave of nausea passed over him, and a wave of dizziness, he stood very still, waiting until it passed before he dared to move and shift his center of gravity. When the urge to vomit had passed, he took a tentative step forward, reeling slightly and catching himself on the wall before he fell, and then stood there for another long moment as another wave of nausea and dizziness crashed over his senses. Wave upon cresting wave, he endured the bumpy ride until finally, after several long minutes, he trusted himself to stand again. His senses and body were slowly returning to his command, and he waited patiently for domination of himself, feeling it return by degrees.

When he could control his body to the point that he could reach for the door knob and not miss, Severus steeled himself and opened the door. The voices from downstairs were clearer now, and he stepped quietly into his room, crouching at the base of the wardrobe and pulling out a small case filled with various bottles of potions he didn't dare leave Hogwarts without. There were two tucked into the back that were a pale, shimmering green. He uncapped one of them and tilted his head back, drinking it greedily despite the sickeningly sweet taste that made his tongue curl far more than the most bitter concoction he could produce. As the liquid seared down his throat, he began to feel less detached from his body, less like death walking, and he stared at the second bottle for a long moment. If he were to drink it, the effects of the curse would be eradicated from him almost entirely. As it was now, he knew that he was in for a long night of jolting awake from cramps and spasms, and probably a week before the shaking subsided completely. It was a powerful potion, but it had to be taken within an hour of the curse, or it was all but useless, and after enduring four of the curses in such a short span of time, Severus knew that he needed the second vial if he was to heal fully from them. At least, if he was to heal fully before the next scheduled meeting.

He stood slowly, pocketing the small bottle, then, almost as an afterthought, donned his outer robes and slipped out of the bedroom and into the corridor. As he made his way downstairs, he clutched the banister for support, and didn't even try to avoid the squeaky step. When he reached the landing between the second and first floor, he was already greeted with a dozen or more people staring up at him. There was no word of conversation, and he made it a point not to notice too fully the distrust and doubt in eyes that had, only a day ago, looked at him with respect and confidence. He barely paused before pressing his way to the ground floor.

"Where is Lupin?" he asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs, and prayed that they didn't say the werewolf was upstairs; Severus didn't know if he had the strength to go back upstairs just yet.

"He's resting in the lounge," Molly replied after a long silence made it clear that no one else was going to.

Severus only nodded, and pushed his way through the gathered people, ignoring their offended looks and ignoring protests from Molly and Tonks that he 'wasn't going to disturb Remus!' "_Lumos_," he breathed into the darkened room, and the end of his wand glowed softly, casting a faint light in the gloom.

Lupin lay on a couch, soft sounds escaping his lips as he shook, his eyes closed, face wrenched into a painful grimace. Severus walked swiftly towards him and crouched at his side. "Remus," he said softly, pressing a hand under the other man's head and lifting it. "Look at me. Open your eyes, Remus, and _look_ at me." Lupin opened his eyes and looked at Severus, but it made the Death Eater's heart clench to see the fear on that face. There was no decision to be made. He reached into his robe and withdrew the bottle of potion, uncapping it with his thumb and catching the lid deftly in his palm.

"Drink this," he whispered, pressing the bottle to Lupin's lip. Lupin stared at him, obviously not sure if it was a good idea or not, and Severus sighed softly. "Trust me, Remus. It will help. Trust me."

"I'm fine," Lupin choked out, and Severus scowled.

"Like hell you are," he muttered, shifting his hand behind Remus' head and tilting the other wizard's head back. He tipped the bottle slightly, giving Lupin the choice of drinking or drowning, and then clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent him from spitting it out. "Swallow it, you pig-headed Gryffindor," he hissed, and, after a moment of fighting, Remus swallowed it, making a face. Only a few seconds later, most of the gloss had left his eyes, and Severus lowered his head to the cushion again. "I know you don't believe me now," he murmured, his head close to Lupin's, "but it was merciful. The others would have…"

Lupin wrapped his fingers around Severus' hand and shook his head. "I know," he whispered hoarsely. "I heard the words being spoken."

It was as though a weight were lifted from Severus' heart and he very nearly smiled. "Rest," he advised. "Tonight and all day tomorrow, and let Molly stuff you with food." Having thus dispensed his compassion for the evening, Severus stood slowly, regaining his footing, and turned to scowl at the small crowd at the door.

"Really," Severus muttered as he pushed past them, "If I'd wanted to kill him, I would have done it earlier. He's slow enough on the defense that I had plenty of opportunities." To his chagrin, he heard Remus chuckling softly, but ignored it. "Where's Willow?" he asked, looking at Moody. "I need explanations."

Moody was watching him carefully, and for a minute, Severus thought that the old bastard was going to be contrary, but after a pause, he jerked his head towards the drawing room. "In there," he replied, still watching Severus. "Hope you have better luck with her than we did."

Severus snorted. "I will," he replied, words that might have sounded haughty had they not been so resolute.

* * *

A/N:

Tall Oaks: Thank you! I'm glad you're impressed! I keep fearing that I'm getting too far from their characters, so I'm pleased to hear you find it realistic.

Cecelle: thanks for pointing that out about the brandy snifTers. Is it painfully obvious that I don't drink brandy (or cognac) yet? I was also told I'd misspelled Courvoisier; can't remember if I've corrected that here or not.

Silverthreads: Severus thought about dumping the letters in McG's lap. Or rather, I thought about it, but he rolled his eyes at me. I think he found the idea something akin to 'tattling' and his pride wouldn't let him.


	31. A Quirk of Fate

Severus stormed into the drawing room, using all his energy and concentration to look as intimidating as humanly possible, and he felt slightly rewarded when the doors banged apart and the two women sitting on the sofa jumped. He felt a pang of distress that Autumn was going to see him like this, but he hadn't the luxury of time to worry about that as his long stride carried him swiftly across the room until he came to a halt, uncomfortable close to Willow, his robes settling as he crouched at her knees. He stared into her eyes, focusing his most intense and intimidating gaze onto her, the one that made students shudder and adults back down.

"I want to know," he began in a low, dangerous tone, "exactly how you knew about the attack. I want to know every detail, and if you tell me that it is like breathing, so help me, I will show you how difficult _breathing_ can be." His face was only inches from hers, their noses very nearly touching. He didn't blink. He braced his hands on the back of the sofa, on either side of her head, trapping her and also keeping himself from shaking.

She looked at him, wide-eyed, for a moment. For a long moment, and then shook her head. "I really don't know," she insisted. "It's like..."

He placed a finger over her lips. "If you tell me it's like breathing," he began repeating, but she shook her head.

"I wasn't going to," she said softly. "I was going to tell you it's like flipping through the television channels, only there are a lot of them and it's hard to remember where something that looked interesting was."

Severus' eyes cut quickly to the gathering off to one side, and settled on Tonks. She shrugged. "IF that's what it's like, I don't think she has any control over it. Kind of like flipping through the pages of a book and barely glimpsing a picture."

Willow nodded quickly. "Yes, exactly. A very large book."

Severus pursed his lips and turned his attention back to the red-haired woman in front of him. "Are they images?" he asked. "Words? Thoughts?"

"Awareness," she answered after a moment's consideration. "I know these things as surely as I know if it's daylight or dark, I don't have to think about it, it doesn't require thought or words or images."

He sighed. This wasn't going well at all. "Autumn said you told her I was going to ask her to dinner. What made you think that?"

Willow shrugged. "You were eating with her," she offered. "In a restaurant. And you were at her flat. So I thought you were going to pick her up for dinner. I guess not?"

"Obviously." His stomach chose that moment to remind him that he hadn't eaten yet at all, and the loud growl made Willow grin.

"Then maybe you should ask her to dinner."

"DAMN IT, WILLOW, THIS IS NOT A GAME!" He leaned into her as he shouted, and she shrank back a bit, placing a hand on his chest as though it would keep him from coming any closer.

"I know," she replied calmly. "It was very dangerous, wasn't it?"

"Yes," he hissed, "it _is_ very dangerous. And do you know something, Willow? They were looking for you. I want to know why you were a target for the Death Eaters. Not Autumn. You." His voice lowered steadily until it was barely even a whisper, a marked contrast from the shouting a moment ago.

A flicker of something crossed her emerald eyes, and for the first time, Severus thought perhaps she was beginning to understand.

"Will you please sit over there?" Willow asked, pointing, and Severus glanced in the direction she was indicating. "You're making me uncomfortable."

For a moment he stared at her. "I'm making you uncomfortable," he repeated, pointedly ignoring the snicker that had to belong to Tonks. He straightened slowly, towering over her, and she craned her head upward, closing one eye.

"Yes," she replied. "I'd appreciate it if I didn't have to peer up so far, or go cross-eyed to look at you."

He gave her his best 'detention-in-my-office-tomorrow' stare, but it didn't seem to impress her in the slightest, and, after a moment, he pointed his wand to the chair she'd pointed at, and it moved towards him. He sat abruptly, his knees touching hers. He wouldn't have sat at all, except that he didn't know how long he would be able to remain standing. And it would do little for his ability to intimidate if he suddenly collapsed in her lap. "Talk," he ordered in a low, cold voice, taking great pains to ignore the look on Autumn's face. Not a look of fear, but one of... disapproval, perhaps. Someone who didn't agree with his methods.

"I don't know," she repeated, drawing her feet up and tucking them under her, thereby removing his last trace of contact with her. "I don't know why I would be a target for anyone, or anything. I just... stop that."

Severus had held her gaze for a long moment, filtering into her mind, sifting through layers of memories, thoughts and images. He was looking for something out of the ordinary; a memory of something odd happening when she was angry, when she was frightened. For a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts or Durmstrang or Beauxbatons or... anywhere really. Anything at all to indicate that she was a witch. He was sure she was. He was _positive_ she was, or the Death Eaters would not be after her, that simple. And if he needed proof, it was in the way she closed off her mind to him suddenly and he found images of his own past rippling to the forefront of his mind.

His first instinct, of course, was to shut her out, but he was, after all, a highly skilled Occlumens. He could shove her aside, which he was tempted to do on principle, or he could take her for a ride through horrors that he had seen, horrors that he had _committed_ in the name of the Dark Lord. He was fifteen, and being quizzed by Lucius Malfoy about what he would do when he graduated Hogwarts. He was seventeen, and he was attending his first meeting, no cloak or mask to hide behind as the first _Cruciatus_ curse hit him. He was eighteen, attending his first meeting as a fully fledged and pledged Death Eater, a corpse at his feet. He was twenty, and sitting in front of Dumbledore, chained to a chair that was more comfortable than he deserved, telling the Headmaster all he knew. He was twenty-one, and hearing the news that the Dark Lord had been defeated, but not before making a final attack and killing James and Lily Potter.

It was two years ago, and the Dark Mark on his arm was burning, a summons to Voldemort's side since his return. It was a few hours later, and he was on the ground, writhing from the pain of _Cruciatus_ administered again and again as a test to his loyalty—no one, not even Dumbledore, knew how close he had come to giving in after and sobbing his confession into the Dark Lord's robes, but he let Willow see that. He was sitting in his office when the news came about Sirius Black's death, and he'd drunk himself into a stupor that night, guilt consuming him. Not guilt because Black was dead, but guilt because he _had _no guilt that Black was dead, and he should have felt a pang of it, even if he had done everything in his power to prevent it. And he had. There was nothing more he could have done. Had it been Dumbledore in jeopardy, there was nothing more that Severus could have done that night. Not one damn thing more. And yet, he was the only one who could have _possibly_ done more.

Willow tried to look away, but Severus reached out and took her face between his fingers, not so gentle as he might have been had he not been showing her what evil he was, what evil she faced. He was standing in the field with the other Death Eaters tonight, the _Cruciatus_ curse hitting him full blast for being late. He was in Autumn's flat, facing others whom he knew Willow couldn't help but recognize as people in the room right then. He was standing, his wand drawn and pointed at Lupin, the other wizard aiming his wand defensively at him. He hurled the curse that brought down Remus, the friend he had introduced to Willow in Autumn's flat. There were tears on Willow's cheeks and he finally released her from his own mind.

"I want to know how you know," he repeated softly. "I want to know _everything_ you know. Beginning with how you knew where to find me."

Willow shook her head. "I _don't know_," she insisted. "I went for a walk, and I was ambling down the street and... and I saw her," Willow gestured at Tonks, "and I knew she was a friend of yours and would lead me to you and it seemed terribly important to find you... but I didn't know why. I never know why. And if I try to work out why, I only talk myself out of following my instincts, and my instincts are almost _always_ right. I don't always make the right assumptions, but the essence is there. You didn't ask Autumn to dinner, but you arrived at her flat at eight, didn't you? And you and she... neither of you have eaten yet, have you? And..."

"Do you know because you..." he paused and made a slight face at the phrase he was about to use, "because you read other people's minds?"

"No," she said simply, shaking her head. "I am an empath, but that only tells me the present. Sometimes glimpses of the past, of memories that aren't mine. That isn't where the future comes from though."

Severus stood abruptly, and instantly regretted it. He grasped the back of the chair to steady himself, his eyes closed, and then moved to the fireplace, his mind whirring, punctuated now and again by a spasm of pain. She _had_ to be a witch of some sort. It was the only logical explanation. But, she was not lying. He was sure of it. If she was a witch, she didn't know it, and had no training, which negated the possibility that it was anything she did consciously to arrive at these conclusions. Which put it back to where he'd started, really. _It's like breathing._

He felt a hand on his back and turned, finding Autumn there, drawing her arms around him. "Are you ill?" she asked softly, reaching a hand up to his face. "You're shivering. Do you have a fever?"

"I'm fine," he replied, almost mechanically, looking at Willow who had stood and was now looking at the chess board still set up from his and Ron's game that was closing in on two weeks old.

"Maybe... maybe Willow's right. Maybe you need to eat something?"

Severus laughed humorlessly. He was certain that he needed to eat something. He was _not_ certain he could keep anything down at the moment. "I'm fine," he repeated. "I haven't the time for foolishness just now, Autumn. Forgive my rudeness." He kissed her cheek and cast one last glance at Willow, then looked at Moody. "The kitchens?" he suggested meaningfully, and Moody nodded, pointing at the door.

Shacklebolt, Tonks and Bill Weasley headed out into the corridor, and Bill poked his head into the lounge. "Mum, dad, we're headed to the kitchen," he told them.

Severus came up behind him. "Lupin too," he ordered.

"Remus has been injured..."

"Goddamnit, Molly, he isn't dying. Come on, Lupin." Severus pushed past Molly and slid an arm under Remus' back, helping him up. "You're going to have to help me a little," he hissed, "I'm in no better condition than you are."

Remus nodded and tried to stand, but looked as though he would fall. Bill appeared and slid a much stronger, more capable arm around Lupin's back. "I've got him, Severus. You worry about yourself."

"But he's in no condition to..."

"Mum!"

"Molly!"

"For fuck's sake." Severus leaned against the wall, his eyes closed, waiting as another tremor passed, and then took a steadying breath. "I'm not asking anyone to run a bloody marathon," he told her as calmly as he could. "I'm asking the _Order_ to gather in the kitchen for as brief a meeting as we can manage because there are two Muggle women in the Drawing Room, and we will _have_ to make some sort of decision about them before anyone can go to bed. And, I don't know about anyone else in this place, but _I,_ for one, am desperately ready to go to bed. So will you _please_ make your way to the fucking kitchen so we can commence this fucking meeting so everyone can be about their fucking business?"

Bill looked at him with an expression that fell somewhere between amused, horrified and impressed. "Feeling fucking better?" he asked.

Severus snorted.

Molly gasped. "William Weasley! I may not have much control over the language other people use but..."

"Gah." Severus threw up his hands and managed to stalk away, despite his general lack of energy and strength.

He had no more than settled at the table when Molly came in, her eyes narrowed into a dark scowl, followed by Lupin, half-carried between Bill and Arthur. McGonagall was stepping out of the fireplace, dusting off her robes, and Dumbledore was walking towards the table. A teacup was placed in front of him, and Severus looked up in surprise at the gnarled hands that had been holding it.

"Are you all right, boy?" Moody asked in a low voice, sitting beside Severus for a moment. Severus cast a look around, but most of the room's occupants were fussing over Lupin.

"Fine," he snapped.

"How many curses did you take tonight?" It was almost a conversational question, and Severus considered telling the ex-Auror to mind his own damn business. He didn't have the energy to make it sound convincing, though.

"Five," he murmured, sinking his head into his hands.

"And you gave your last bottle of remedy to Lupin."

"I had two bottles," Severus replied shortly. "I took one, and gave one to him."

"You could have used two."

"I could have used three," Severus replied honestly. "But one was enough to clear my head. Lupin was taking it worse."

"He isn't used to them like you are."

"I am aware of that."

There was a brief pause, and then Moody patted his back. "You're a good man, Snape," he said softly. "Hard to believe it of anyone who is a Death Eater, but you are almost enough to make a sour old man believe that people can change."

Severus snorted softly.

"I'll tell the others to quit fussing over Lupin and give you some credit, if you want."

Severus lifted his head, horrified. "You most certainly will not," he hissed. "What good would that do? Nothing would be changed. He is still in more pain than he ever thought possible and..."

"And maybe everyone else would realize that you're not the villain they're trying to pretend you are. You know they blame you."

"I don't give a rat's ass," Snape hissed. "And if you want to do something, convince them to commence the meeting. The only thing in the world I want right now is to crawl into bed."

"Drink that tea," Moody ordered, standing again. Severus eyed the teacup suspiciously. "It isn't poison, and I doubt there's a poison in the world that could make you feel worse than you already do."

Severus snorted softly, but thought Moody might just be right. He picked up the teacup and sniffed cautiously, then took a small sip. He could neither taste nor smell anything out of the ordinary, but he knew enough about potions and poisons to be aware that just because he couldn't smell or taste it did not mean it wasn't there.

"You know, the sooner we get this meeting started, the sooner you can all carry Lupin up to bed and fuss him into sleeping," Moody commented dryly, and Lupin had a look on his face that was as grateful as Severus felt. He probably wasn't terribly thrilled at the attention, come to think of it, especially since the potion Severus had given him would have alleviated most of the pain by now. He was probably just exhausted and weak by now.

"What developments since Minerva and I left?" Dumbledore asked, and Arthur shook his head.

"Very few. Severus returned, gave a potion to Remus, spoke with Willow, and now we're here."

A very abbreviated account of the events, but close enough for Severus at the moment. He concentrated on not putting his head on the table. "Willow doesn't know how she knew," he sighed. "She doesn't know how she knew where to find me, or how she knew that I needed to go to Autumn, and I don't think she knew that Autumn was in danger when she told me that, and I truly doubt she realized that _she_ was the target."

"Willow was the target?" Remus asked, his voice shaky but strong.

Severus nodded.

"Why?"

"Damned if I know."

"Is she a witch?" This came from Shacklebolt, echoing the question that had been ricocheting about in Severus' head for a week.

"I don't think so," he replied after a brief pause. "But I don't suppose I can say for sure."

"She is not a witch," Dumbledore said softly. "According to the definitions set by the Ministry. She hasn't the power necessary to be considered a witch, and she was not strong enough to be granted admission into any of the schools."

Severus frowned slightly. Had Dumbledore just said she _was_ or she _wasn't_?

"I don't understand," Tonks said, giving voice to Severus' own confusion.

"There are standards, my dear. Standards for admission, just as there are standards for graduation. Willow did not meet these standards, and therefore was not extended an invitation to any of the schools. She did not even meet Hogwarts' standards, and Hogwarts has the lowest admission standards of any of the schools in Europe."

Severus mulled that over in his head for a minute. "Then she isn't really a Muggle?"

"Oh, she is quite a Muggle, my boy. Muggle is as much a culture and way of life as it is a reference to non-magical people. She is a part of the Muggle world, through and through."

"But she does have magical abilities." His head was beginning to swim, a sure indication that he needed to find his bed soon. This should not have been such a difficult concept to wrap his mind around.

"She has negligible abilities. She is most likely capable of parlor tricks," Dumbledore replied, almost offhandedly. "I would not be surprised to find that she can bend spoons with her mind, or make a book levitate. She likely has the abilities required to brew a simple potion, had she access to the ingredients and the inclination to do so. With a great deal of training, she might eventually become as competent as some of our Second Year students, but she would certainly never be able to pass even one OWL. Her abilities are simply not that pronounced. It is easier for her to pass in a world where she is abnormally gifted, rather than to suffer in our world, where she would be at a constant disadvantage."

Severus massaged the bridge of his nose, nodding.

"Then why does You-Know-Who have any interest in her at all?" Arthur asked what some of the Muggle-born might have called the $64,000 question.

All eyes turned to Severus, who shook his head. "I already told you I don't know," he replied shortly.

"Willow has a rare gift, one unassociated with magic. She has the ability to glimpse the future from time to time, as you have all seen tonight. It is an unpredictable ability, certainly, and one which many might doubt is a true skill, and one for which I can offer no proof of existence. She also, as I believe Severus and Remus are aware, dabbles in what the Muggles call magic, which is, from time to time, quite potent, if accidental. Combined with her unexceptional magical abilities and her quite exceptional non-magic abilities, she is, in her own way, quite a thorn in Voldemort's side at times. I believe that she has managed to place wards on several of the places he has intended to enter."

"Are those the wards no one in the ministry can figure out who placed?" Tonks asked, wide-eyed. Severus had no idea what she was talking about.

"A number of them have come at her hands, I believe. As I said, it seems largely coincidental that she is able to do it at all, and I've watched her a number of times. Buried in ritual and superstition, and with more words than any twelve incantations should use, and quite artistically choreographed, if I may say so. But effective, despite all her babbling and sprinkling of salt and 'blessed water'."

Severus wasn't the only one shaking his head.

"So," Shacklebolt began slowly. "You're telling us that this woman is a Muggle with magical powers but who wasn't strong enough to be accepted into a school of witchcraft and she dabbles in the nonsense that Muggles call magic, and somewhat successfully because she is, on a level, magical, and in her inadvertent dabbling, she now and then manages to do something useful, and thus is a threat to You-Know-Who?"

"I wouldn't say she is a _threat_. More like a nuisance. But yes, I think you have the idea."

"Well," Severus said sardonically, "that explains everything and nothing. What are we going to do about those two? Autumn's flat was destroyed, and Willow is obviously in danger."

"Is there any reason they couldn't stay here?" Remus asked. Severus was glad it wasn't _he_ who'd asked the question, though that was exactly what was on his mind. "They would obviously have to be told a few things..."

Severus snorted and raised an eyebrow. "Just a few?" he asked, shaking his head.

"What do you think, Severus? You know them both better than any of the rest of us." Dumbledore was looking over the top of his spectacles in Severus' direction, and Severus shook his head firmly.

"I am too attached to both of them to make such a decision," he said simply. "I would almost beg you all to allow them to stay here where they will be safe. Which is why I am going to stay out of this conversation. We need to decide what is best for the Order."


	32. The Monster in the Closet

Everyone had finally reached an agreement about Autumn and Willow. It was a rather unfortunate quirk of fate that they'd been brought into this, but now that they had, they would simply have to stay involved. At least for the time being. Severus felt oddly as though a weight had been lifted from his heart, in all honesty, as their sudden involvement necessitated his explaining _many_ things to Autumn, which he'd been keeping from her. The weight that was lifted, though, was soon replaced with another as he realized that for every explanation, there would be new questions, and he would have to offer other explanations he did not wish.

It was little things. Autumn thought the 'tattoo' on his arm was 'wicked', but she had no idea that she was right. It _was_ wicked, but not in the way she meant. It was evil, and it was a sign that _he_ was evil, and that was not something he was sure he could avoid telling her any longer. He was not sure it was something he could reconcile with his conscious for not having explained long before now. _Long? You've known her less than two weeks, you fool._

He found himself wishing suddenly that he could take her back to Hogwarts with him. How he would love her introduction to magic to be the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall, or the painting of the pear that you tickled to gain entrance to the kitchens. How he wished he could sit with her by the lake, watching for the giant squid to surface with its tentacles, and see the look on her face. He wanted to see her reaction to portraits that talked and staircases that moved and House Elves and _wingardium leviosa_ and Quidditch. Unfortunately she was going to have her belief in magic affirmed with what was sure to be a sketchy explanation of some of the darkest of the Dark Arts. There would be no changing of dustpans into doves to make her clap delightedly, there would be only a brief explanation of _Imperio_ and _Crucio_, and he would leave out _Avada Kedavra_ if he could.

"Do you want me to come with you?" asked a soft voice, and Severus turned to meet Lupin's eyes. "For moral support. I know you can explain it all, but..."

Severus laughed humorlessly. "I almost wish you would," he replied quietly. "But I don't know what good it would do."

"If it would make it easier for you to approach the subject, I'll sit there with my mouth shut," Remus promised softly. "It's an honest offer, Severus."

"I know, and I thank you, but..." he trailed off abruptly as a small figure in the doorway caught his eye. When the meeting had ended, Molly had opened the kitchen door, even though everyone in the house had either been in attendance or getting ready for bed. Now, though, Autumn was standing there, a faint flush on her cheeks. "Autumn," Severus whispered hoarsely.

Lupin spun around to look at her, his eyes wide, obviously thinking the same thing Severus was—what had she heard? She licked her lips nervously, and stepped into the kitchen, keeping her back against the wall, and Severus noted for the first time that she looked a bit pale. He crossed the kitchen quickly, and placed an arm around her shoulders. "Are you all right?" he asked softly, and she glanced around. She'd drawn a fair bit of attention in the past few minutes.

"I... erm..." she took a step back from him, looking at the floor, her arms crossed about her waist in an effort to hug herself, it seemed, and she glanced surreptitiously at Bill and Tonks who were still at the table. "I don't know quite how to say this," she said softly.

Severus exchanged another frown with Lupin. "Just out with it, then," Remus suggested.

She laughed a derisive laugh and looked at the floor again. "This is so stupid," she murmured, turning her head to the side and taking a deep breath. "There's..." she looked up at them, and her face grew even redder. She laughed again, but it didn't sound heartfelt at all, and she sank her head into her hand. "Never mind," she said finally. "I just have too much imagination. I'm going back upstairs."

Severus eyed her suspiciously, but didn't really know what to say. "Is something wrong, Autumn?" he asked softly, and she bit her lip again, looking very much as though she had something she would like to tell him, and at the same time looking rather determined not to say it, whatever it was.

She was looking past him, at the ceiling, her face turning redder by degrees and then finally she seemed to make up her mind. "No," she said, shaking her head firmly. "Nothing is wrong. I'm just in a strange house and it's been a strange night and if I think I'm seeing... no. Nothing is wrong."

"What is it that you think you're seeing?" Bill had been tying his shoe, and now draped an arm over his knee, regarding Autumn thoughtfully. "You know, we're not going to laugh at you."

She opened her mouth, and then shut it quickly, shaking her head. Tonks stood this time and walked over in her usual graceless fashion that brought to mind a kitten still trying to figure out what to do with so many legs. "You know," she confided softly, "you're right about one thing. This is a very old house, and a _strange_ house at that, and you might shudder at some of the things we've found here. Did you see something? Hear a noise?"

Autumn opened her mouth again, and then closed it once more. "Like I said, I'm sure it was just my imagination."

Tonks nodded, looking thoughtful. "Couldn't have been a rat or something?" she prompted. "Wouldn't be the first time we found a rat."

Autumn looked at her for a long minute, then nodded, frowning. "Yes," she said finally. "I think it might have been a rat or... something."

"Where was it?" Tonks asked.

"In the wardrobe. In the room Remus said I could sleep in."

Tonks caught Lupin's eye, and he nodded, slipping off to the stairs. Severus looked from Tonks to Autumn and back again. "Remus will take care of it," Tonks said cheerily. "Come on now, let's have some tea and leave him to it. Filthy things, rats."

Autumn nodded doubtfully, and Severus could almost see her working to convince herself that it was, indeed, a rat. Fascinating. Severus had never been around Muggles enough to see this phenomenon, though he'd certainly heard of it—Muggles, it was always said, would go to great lengths to ignore magic when confronted with it, and even this Muggle, whom Severus had ample evidence believed in _some_ form of magic at least (Muggle witches, Remus had called Autumn and Willow, and it was probably still right on both accounts, despite the odd twists and turns involving Willow), did not appear to want to be made a fool of by admitting to what she'd seen. Severus almost felt sorry for Remus going blindly to rid the wardrobe of whatever it was that was trapped inside it. Likely a boggart, but it could be almost anything.

Severus seated himself across from Autumn, watching her carefully as she stirred her tea. She'd been stirring it for several minutes now, and he was sure that her mind was on whatever it was in that wardrobe. And, he realized suddenly, he was being presented an excellent chance to broach the topic of magic with her. Clearing his throat softly, he leaned forward, bracing his arms on the table. "It wasn't a rat, was it, Autumn?" he asked softly, and her eyes widened again. She shook her head slowly, though. "Will you tell me what it _really_ was?" he asked, hoping his voice was as patient and understanding as he intended it to be.

Autumn was very quiet. Exceptionally quiet, in fact. "I don't know," she replied at last. "I... it was..." She shook her head firmly. "I don't know."

"Will you describe it to me, then?" he asked, tilting his head to one side in an attempt to hold her gaze as she found her tea cup increasingly interesting.

She was quiet for so long that he was afraid she wasn't going to reply, but finally, she did. Haltingly, but she began to speak. "It was green," she offered, not daring to look up. "With red, bloodshot eyes and two horns, kind of like a rhinoceros. And fangs. But it was really little, like, no bigger than a cat, and it had really big feet with sharp claws and... no eyelids. And a forked tongue. And wings. And its body _did_ look almost like a rat, with a rat's tail, except it had scales and designs on it like... like a snake."

Severus just stared at her. He'd been expecting her to say it was a giant rat or a snake with two heads or something... less complex. He looked at Tonks, who shrugged, and then at Arthur, who was sitting, his teacup in his hand. "Fascinating," he said softly. "Anything else?"

She shook her head. "It's stupid, I know. I told you I have an overactive imagination and..."

"Not at all," Severus interrupted, finding his voice finally. "It was... erm..." he frowned suddenly. "You know, Lupin's been gone longer than I would have expected it to take him to remove a boggart... I think I'll go make sure..."

"There we are!" The man in question entered the kitchen with a bright smile. "That's one less boggart to worry about. A particularly nasty one, too."

"Quite," Severus replied, still watching Autumn.

"A boggart?" she repeated. "What's a boggart?"

Severus shrugged slightly. "You might call it a monster of sorts, though I really don't like that categorization. It's a magical creature. But, I suppose a monster is close enough for now."

Autumn's eyes were big and round as saucers. "You mean... it's _real_?" Her voice was barely a squeak now. "But... I thought..." she was increasingly pale, and her eyes were threatening to consume her whole face. Her hands shook until her teacup was in danger of being knocked off the table, and Bill moved closer in alarm, pushing her cup farther from the edge and hooking an arm firmly around her waist.

"Are you all right?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Autumn nodded, her eyes still wide, and she looked like she was going to be ill. She did _not_ look 'all right'. Severus looked at Lupin, his own eyes wide, his expression clearly asking 'what the hell did I do?' Lupin's face replied, just as clearly, 'damned if I know!'

"Autumn, er, I... I didn't realize this was going to upset you so, and..." He looked, panic-stricken at Arthur, who looked considerably less fascinated now and more concerned.

Tonks stood suddenly and moved to the cupboard and retrieved a glass and a bottle of scotch. Pouring a liberal measure of the latter into the former, she returned to the table, placed the glass in Autumn's hands, and commanded in a firm voice, "Drink that. You look like you need it." Autumn looked at Tonks for a moment, then picked up the glass and tossed the entire contents down her throat, and set the glass back on the table with a _thud_. "Better?" Tonks asked after a moment, and Autumn nodded, shakily. She didn't look precisely _better_, but she also didn't look quite so green now. Maybe that _was_ an improvement.

Tonks sat again, nudging Bill out of the way and turning Autumn to look at her. "Now, that green monster with the red eyes and horns... was this the first time you've ever thought of such a thing?"

Autumn shook her head slowly, and Severus' eyes threatened to pop out of his head suddenly. Lupin sank into the chair to Severus' left, and was watching with avid interest. Tonks ignored them both.

"Where have you thought of it before?" Tonks asked.

"My brother," Autumn whispered. "He used to tell me there was a monster that lived in the sewers that would get me if I went to the bathroom at night."

Tonks shot a withering look at Severus and suddenly picked up a stray napkin and threw it at him. "And _you_ told her that thing was _real_ you lout!"

Severus' mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and then snapped shut. But that...

"Men," Tonks muttered, rolling her eyes. She patted Autumn's hand. "Don't worry, there's no monster in the sewer that I know of. That thing upstairs was called a boggart, which is a _type _of creature. It's a shapeshifter, and it turns into whatever you fear. So, you obviously fear this thing your brother made up to tease you—aren't boys just awful like that?—and the boggart sensed that, so became it. Does that make sense?"

Autumn was nodding slowly, looking a little more calm.

"They're really fairly harmless, provided you don't kill yourself trying to get away from them. Most people's fears are more concrete than that. Spiders and snakes and rats and the like. Must've been a shock to see this old monster in your wardrobe suddenly, huh?"

Autumn nodded again, looking at Tonks as though she'd grown two heads.

"Yeah. It's different if you're not used to that kind of thing," Tonks was saying. "I know I never saw one until I was in school, and being taught how to get rid of it, so mine was really wonky too. I'm afraid I watched way too many horror movies growing up, so mine was something of a cross between Freddy Kreuger and Michael Myers. You know, that really stiff walk and the blank mask face and the knife, but the really sharp fingernails and the red and white sweater?"

Severus looked at Bill and then at Lupin and then at Arthur, but they all had equally blank expressions on their faces. Freddy who and Mike what? Autumn, however, had a faint smile on her face.

"Yeah. It's pretty funny now. But the good news is, those film monsters are a hell of a lot worse than anything that's real. So, before you freak out because 'monsters' are real, keep in mind that film directors have phenomenal imaginations and specialize in making us scream. Probably why Muggles are more afraid of boggarts than witches and wizards. Like those four," Tonks pointed, taking in the four men across the table, and then leaned towards Autumn to speak conspiratorially. "I bet they'd all shit their pants if they saw _Alien_."

Autumn giggled at that, and Severus just shook his head. Bill looked like he was going to protest, but then seemed to change his mind. Autumn's smile suddenly faded. "Witches?" she asked softly. "And wizards? I..." she frowned. "Willow claims her grandmother was a witch... I don't suppose you're talking about wicca and..."

"No," Tonks said firmly. "I'm not going to tell you that's all rot, but it isn't what I'm talking about. There are people who can perform magic, Autumn. People like me and those four idiots over there," Tonks waved at them again.

"You're a witch," Autumn repeated, and Tonks nodded, grinning. "Are you..." she frowned slightly, then started again, more resolutely. "Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?"

Tonks smiled again, but more sympathetically this time. "I wish it was that easy, but it isn't. Just like anyone else, there are good and bad witches and wizards, and if you come right out and ask them, none will say 'oh, yeah, I'm bad.' So it's a question of who you trust and who you believe. You know Severus, don't you?"

Autumn looked across the table at Severus and frowned. He flinched at the look on her face. The look in her eyes. "I thought I did," she said softly. "But I didn't know he was a witch."

"Wizard," Tonks corrected. "Men are wizards, women are witches. And don't be too hard on him because he didn't tell you—there are harsh penalties for revealing ourselves to Muggles, but sometimes it can't be helped."

Autumn nodded again.

"And, tonight, it couldn't be helped. You see, there are other witches and wizards who are in strong disagreement with us, or vice versa you might say, about certain things, and, to make a long story very short, you sort of got dumped into the middle of the conflict. So, now you're here, and this has got to have been one of the biggest shocks of your life, hasn't it?"

Autumn nodded once more, still looking at Severus with a mixture of curiosity and distrust. The distrust came close to killing him.

"So, I'm going to suggest that you and Severus find a quiet corner somewhere and do some talking," Tonks said, as though suggesting they go have tea. "And if he says anything that scares you like the boggart did, just hit him or something. He's just a man, after all, and men are notorious for being blind to what frightens women, and he's a wizard who knows nothing about the Muggle world, so he probably wouldn't know what's scaring you half the time even if he _did_ notice it. Now, go on." Tonks stood again and frowned slightly at Autumn. "Do you want some more scotch?" she asked. "It might help."

"I don't think so," Autumn said softly, standing as well. "I think you're right. I mostly need to talk to Severus."

Severus flinched inwardly at the ice that laced Autumn's voice, but he stood, and offered her his arm. After a moment of staring at him as though he were a venomous snake, she touched his arm tentatively, and then seemed to give herself a mental shake. "Let's go examine your wardrobe," Severus suggested softly. "And make sure there are no other boggarts hiding in your room. I think you've had enough monsters for one night."

She nodded, and he guided her out of the kitchen and into the hallway. "Is there a lot to tell me?" she asked softly, and he smiled sympathetically at her.

"Quite a lot," he admitted, gesturing for her to lead the way upstairs.

She fell silent for a moment, until they reached her room, and he led her to the bed, helping her settle onto it, and then began a systematic searching of the room, wand at the ready. Wardrobe first, then desk drawers, then bureau drawers. He checked under the bed, and under the nightstand, and behind the curtains, looking for much more than simply boggarts but not telling her. As he peeked behind a chair, he suddenly chuckled and pocketed his wand, crouching to reach into the corner. He came up with a puffskein in his hands and moved over to the bed to sit beside her. She stared at the custard-colored furrball as though it might attack her.

"You can pet it," Severus offered, trying his best to be sensitive. "It's... it's called a puffskein. It's very safe. Children keep them as pets."

She continued to stare at it, and at him. "I—I'd rather not," she said softly, and he nodded, placing it in his lap and smiling slightly as it began to vibrate against his thigh.

"Very well," he replied. "I won't make you. But it really is a charming little thing. Like a perpetually purring kitten."

She didn't look convinced, and, after a moment's consideration, he decided that maybe it would be best if he didn't have the thing in his lap while he was trying to talk to her. He placed it on the floor again, and it scuttled into a corner. "Don't let me forget to take it with me when I go," he said softly.

She nodded.

Stifling a yawn, Severus glanced around the room. "I hardly know where to begin," he said softly. "I'm afraid this didn't start quite the way I'd intended."

"What's a Muggle?" she asked softly. "Tonks kept saying that."

"Non-magic people," Severus replied promptly, glad that her first question was so easy to answer. "'Ordinary' people, you might say."

She nodded again, and drew her knees to her chest. "Are there a lot of witches and wizards?" she asked.

He yawned before he could stop himself this time, and smiled apologetically at her. "A fair number," he replied from behind his hand, blinking.

"Did you not sleep well last night?"

He laughed softly. "I didn't sleep very long last night," he answered. "I was up past three."

She nodded, and reached for his hand. He smiled and allowed himself to be pulled to the mattress beside her. Opening his arms for her to settle against him, he was somewhat surprised when she moved to cradle his head against her. "Do we need to talk about this tomorrow instead of now?" she asked softly.

He yawned again. "If you think you can sleep with what knowledge you have, I'd be eternally grateful for the delay," he murmured.

She combed her fingers through his hair. "I think I'll survive," she said softly. "Especially if you're here with me to protect me..."

His eyes had been drifting steadily closed, but suddenly they popped open again and he looked at her a bit oddly. "You do know I can't stay," he said softly. The horrified look on her face told him very clearly that no, she had _not_ considered that possibility.

"Don't leave me here alone," she pleaded. "Please, don't leave me in this place alone."

He shifted slightly, pulling her into his arms. "Shh," he whispered. "You won't be alone. Remus will be here, and Willow is in the other room."

"It isn't the same," she insisted. "Please, Severus, don't leave me here by myself. That... that _thing_ in the corner! What if there's more?! What if there's another... another boggart?"

"There are no more boggarts," he insisted, kissing her forehead. "And there's only the one puffskein, and if you really won't try to pet it, I'll take it with me when I leave."

"How do you know there are no more boggarts?" she asked, a note of panic creeping into her voice.

"Because I checked, remember?" She was trembling, and he stroked her hair lightly trying to calm her, and making a note to brew some calming potion tomorrow.

"But how did it get there in the first place?" she demanded, her voice becoming shrill with the panic. "What if more come? What if..."

He placed a kiss on her lips to stop her. "I'll stay," he murmured. "Just calm down. I'll stay."

"All night?" she asked, and he mentally cursed her for being so astute; he'd only intended to stay until she fell asleep, and he suddenly found himself wondering what had prompted her to ask that.

"All night," he promised. "But I'll have to leave early in the morning. Do you want me to wake you before I go?"

She frowned. "How early?" she asked.

"Probably six or a little before," he said softly. "I teach, remember? My first class will arrive at eight sharp, and I can't imagine they'd be much more forgiving of my tardiness than I am of theirs."

"Wake me before you go," she whispered. "I don't want to be in here alone."

"All right," he agreed. "Now, do I need to get up and remove the puffskein or will it be all right in the corner where it is?"

She seemed torn between wanting it gone and not wanting him to let go of her. Curling up closer to him, she buried her head against his chest. "You swear it won't hurt us?" she asked.

"If either of us was in the slightest danger from it, I wouldn't have picked it up to begin with," he replied calmly. "It's no more dangerous than a kitten or a rabbit. Just a soft, furry thing that purrs."

"We're going to have to get up to get under the blankets, aren't we?" she asked, and he was aware that she was clinging to him. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"There are some true advantages to magic, Autumn," he murmured against her hair. "_Accio blanket!_" The blanket flew up from the foot of the bed, settling over them, and he tucked it gently around her shoulders. "Good night," he whispered.

"Good night," she returned, and snuggled in closer. He felt a surge of protectiveness just before he slipped beneath the surface of sleep.


	33. Reflection

"Severus?"

Severus awoke to a soft voice whispering his name and a gentle hand on his shoulder. He frowned as he rolled away from the warm body beside him and looked, scowlingly, up into the eyes of Remus Lupin. "What?" he asked, as harshly as he could while still whispering.

"I was afraid you didn't know what time it was. I knocked, but no one answered… you've only got forty-five minutes until first classes start…"

"What?!" Severus disentangled himself as gently as he could from Autumn. "It's after seven?"

Remus nodded, and Severus cursed under his breath, then considered the sleeping Autumn for a moment. She'd said to wake her, but he didn't really want to. She looked so peaceful just now. After a moment's consideration, though, he decided that he _had_ promised her, and supposed she would be angry with him if he did not. Bending over her, he kissed her cheek softly, caressing her face gently.

"Hmm?" Her eyes flitted open, and Severus placed a finger over her lips.

"Don't wake up," he murmured against her ear. "I promised I'd tell you goodbye before I left. I'll see you this evening. Sleep…" He kissed her forehead, smoothing her hair away from her face, and then eased himself from the bed.

He retrieved his wand from the nightstand and yawned, grimacing as a sharp pain shot through his leg. He tried his weight on it, and muttered another curse as he glanced around the room, feeling like he was forgetting something. He couldn't imagine what. He had his wand, and he hadn't brought anything else with him, so…

Stifling another yawn, he slipped out of the room, and found Remus in the hallway. He hadn't even noticed the other wizard had left. "How are you feeling?" Severus asked pointedly, regarding Lupin with a discerning eye.

"Fine."

"Liar. And horrible at it."

Remus chuckled at that, but admitted, "I've been better, but I'm feeling much better than I was last night. Molly left some sweet rolls downstairs if you want to have a quick breakfast before you go…?"

Severus scrubbed a hand over his dace and shook his head. "I'm already late," he muttered. "I'll be back later. Around eight. Tell Autumn…?"

"I will."

He paused for a moment, and looked at Lupin thoughtfully. "Keep an eye on her?" he asked, and Lupin nodded. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

* * *

Apparently, news had spread through the school about the fiasco in potions the day before, for that was what the Fifth Year students were chattering about in the Hall when Severus opened the door to allow the Third Years to exit and the Fifth Years to enter. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw Fifth Years; the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws would not arrive until after a two hour lunch break, thankfully. Severus stood to one side, watching the students file in, falling silent as they passed him, as though he represented some invisible boundary beyond which it was not worth their lives to speak. That was just as well. Severus didn't like hearing his students chattering. When the last of the Hufflepuff line had passed the door, Severus pointed his wand at the portal and the door shut with a _bang_. He stalked to the front of the classroom.

"I suppose that you all have heard that one of your classmates attempted to kill the rest of us yesterday," Severus commented dryly. "And I hope the gossip has you all aware of the importance of following instructions. It is not, however, a topic for discussion in this classroom, and I will thank you all to desist." He turned to face them, and noted that he had their attention fully. Not that this was unusual. "Further, I will add that I don't believe I have ever assigned so many detentions in one class as I did in the Sixth Year NEWT class yesterday, and I would encourage you all not to press towards defeating that dubious record." Eyes widened marginally all over the room, and Severus pointed his wand at the board. "Now, if you will all direct your attention to the Reducing Potion instructions on the board, the supplies are in the cupboards," he pointed his wand at the cabinets that lined the wall, and three doors swung open, "and I will encourage you all to take special care with the pomegranate seeds. Begin."

Luckily, the class passed without major mishap, and most of the students' potions were acceptable. And it was a blessedly safe assignment, if complicated. The worst the students could have possibly done was make a mess; there was simply no chance that the students would kill anyone through any measure short of sheer stupidity.

When class ended, Severus stepped into his office, acutely aware that there was a gnawing pang of hunger in his stomach. It was odd that he was so acutely aware of how many meals he'd missed in the last two days, but he was. Not two weeks ago, he could have easily gone three days without eating and barely noticed it, but now... His stomach growled again, and it irritated him. He'd overslept this morning and missed breakfast. He'd not had dinner yesterday, had slept through lunch, had overslept the previous morning and missed breakfast then. He had every intention of locking his office and making his way to the Great Hall as quickly as he could manage while retaining his dignity.

He was just depositing last night's homework into a basket when he heard the roar of the fire, and a moment later Lupin stepped out, earning himself a scowl from the potions master.

"This had best be good, Lupin," he said in a warning tone.

Lupin grinned and placed a bundle on his desk. "It's excellent, as a matter of fact," the werewolf replied. "I don't think even the House Elves are a match for Autumn, and I thought you might like some."

Severus looked sideways at Lupin, then reached for the package, untying the string that held it together and peering inside. As soon as he opened it, he was greeted by a savory-smelling aroma wafting out of it, and he opened it further, revealing a dish of rice with a creamy sauce and chunks of chicken over it. "This is what she fixed you for lunch?" he asked, staring at the dish, and Lupin nodded, grinning. "I think I'm jealous." Lupin laughed aloud at that.

"That's why I brought you some," he replied, reaching for a chair and seating himself. "I know that the food here is excellent, but it's never quite so..." he trailed off.

"Unique?" Severus suggested, and Lupin nodded.

"Precisely. And there's a... erm... I forgot what she called it, actually, but it's wonderful. In that," Lupin pointed at a folded piece of parchment, and Severus fingered a corner aside and peered in. It was a flaky-looking pastry of some sort topped with something sticky-looking.

"I'm sure it is," he murmured, pulling himself away from the tantalizing aromas with great difficulty. "Do you want tea?" he asked Lupin as he peered into the kettle he kept on his sideboard.

"Please," Lupin replied, and Severus removed two cups and a canister of tea leaves, then returned to his desk. A wave of his wand and he'd conjured himself a fork, which was his last concession to civility before he took the first bite of the rice dish. It was, indeed, chicken in it, and a creamy sauce, and peas and carrots and broccoli and… And he was really too busy eating to worry about what was in it. Pity he had to waste such a meal when he was so hungry; he suspected it was rather like giving a man dying of thirst cognac when water would have done.

After several moments of eating in silence, Severus found his stomach more cooperative with the idea of conversation during the meal. "I feel like I'm being terribly rude," he commented, and Lupin shrugged.

"Don't. I know you're on a much tighter schedule than I am."

"Hrmph," he muttered non-committally. He doubted that the statement was meant to be a barb, but he was acutely aware of the reason the other wizard had such a flexible schedule, and he didn't like to be reminded of it. That, he had a feeling, was one topic which was likely to remain taboo between the two of them, however well they might manage to get along.

After several more thoughtful minutes, Severus approached conversation from a new angle. "How are things going?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer. "With Autumn, I mean. Has she had any more run-ins with boggarts?"

Lupin chuckled softly. "No," he replied with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "no more boggarts. There was a small matter of a puffskein that decided to join her in bed this morning, though."

Severus grimaced. "Shit. I knew I was forgetting something."

"Yes," Remus nodded sagely. "She had a few choice words for you, and a number of interesting names. I'm not sure they were all English, but I am quite certain that none of them were flattering."

Pausing for a moment, fork midway to his mouth, he frowned. "Should I be afraid of the food?" he asked. He was mostly being facetious.

With a snort, Remus shook his head. "No, I think she decided the puffskein wasn't so bad, after all. When I left, it was in her lap."

"I tried to tell her last night that it wasn't dangerous."

"I think that last night she was too busy being shocked in general," Remus pointed out. "She seemed a little more receptive this morning." There was something in Remus' tone that made Severus raise an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

"Mmm. We spent the morning having a little discussion about magic. A few practical demonstrations… I'm sorry, Severus, she asked. What was I supposed to do? Refuse?"

"No, no, of course not." Some of the disappointment must have shown on his face for Lupin to have apologized. "It's good that she's accepted it enough to be curious about it. What did you tell her?" He made a concentrated effort to keep the trepidation from his voice.

"Mostly some general information," Remus replied, almost off-handedly. "There isn't really a whole lot to tell, once she began believing it. I showed her a few charms and transfiguration tricks, and I think she's got the idea that it's real."

Severus nodded, taking a sip of his tea. Of course. "Then I suppose that when I get there I should be prepared to start explaining about Purebloods and the Dark Lord."

"I think she's ready to hear that," Remus agreed, looking analytically at Severus. "I can't say I think she'll truly understand it, but I think she's ready to hear it."

"Of course." He finished the last of the chicken and rice and then looked at the pastry again, trying to decide if he was going to eat it now or save it for later, and trying not to dwell on his disappointment that Lupin had been the one to explain magic to Autumn. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear you were upset," Lupin commented softly, and Severus snorted.

"Good thing you know better, then," he murmured, breaking off a small portion of the pastry. The taste was enough to convince him to eat it now.

"You aren't angry with me for answering her questions, are you?"

"Of course not," Severus replied. "Don't insult me." He had no desire to explain it to Lupin. None. It was silly and a pointless thing to worry over anyway. Just because for once he would have enjoyed being the bringer of good news, the one to produce a bouquet of flowers from his wand to delight her; to charm a piece of parchment into fluttering around the room like a butterfly. Just because he wished that he could have been the one to rescue her from the evil of a boggart, rather than being the one to thoughtlessly leave a puffskein in her room. Of course, he should be used to it by now. His was not to delight, but to frighten. He had chosen the delicate discipline of potion-making over the more entertaining fields such as charms.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely certain," he replied mechanically, though in his mind he was already seeing the horror on Autumn's face when he began to explain about curses and hexes and Death Eaters. It was unavoidable, of course, but he had hoped he would be able to counter some of that by showing her the… he sighed. It didn't really matter.

Severus dropped his fork abruptly and opened his desk drawer, rummaging inside for a key. He found it and stood, swiftly walking over to one of his cupboards and opening it with a deft twist, and pulled out three bottles. "Since you're here, you might as well take these back with you." He glanced over his shoulder at Lupin, and then locked the cabinet again. "This one," he indicated a large bottle of acid green liquid, "is a calming potion. I don't think it would hurt anything to have it on hand, just in case Autumn or Willow runs across another boggart. Or worse. Five drops will be enough to put either of them to sleep for a few hours; ten drops would kill them. Be frugal with it."

Lupin looked doubtfully at the bottle, but nodded.

"This one," Severus held up a smaller bottle of reddish-orange syrup, "is for you. For shakiness. A spoonful will suffice, and then lie down for fifteen minutes, and it will help. This one," he pointed to a bottle with a purple liquid in it, "is for pain. Are you having muscle spasms and cramps?"

"Severus…"

"If you do, two spoonfuls to a cup of tea, or something warm and drink it. It will take effect almost immediately."

"Severus…"

"And, I have also been meaning to give you…"

"_Severus_."

"What?" He finally acknowledge the werewolf's repeated attempt to capture his attention.

"Finish eating," Lupin pointed at the sweet that was only half-consumed. "We're all fine."

Of course you are, Severus thought distantly. He had the most unreasonable wish that there was some crisis which he was desperately needed to solve. He looked at the bottles of potion, and then placed them on the desk. "Certainly," he murmured. "The instructions are with them, anyway."

Lupin nodded and stood, walking in a slow circuit around the office while Severus picked at his dessert. Remus paused in front of a shelf, frowning, and Severus' eyes drifted to where he stood. "What's this?" Lupin asked, pointing at the paperweight Minerva had given him for his birthday the past year. It was a serpent carved of jade and a lion carved of sandstone, the two creatures wrestling. Turned one way, the serpent was quite obviously winning. Turned the other way, it was the lion who would be the victor. Severus shook his head, noting that the lion seemed to be winning at the moment, and stood, crossing the room, and flipping the figure over so the serpent was on top.

"A joke," he answered tersely. "Between Minerva and myself."

Chuckling slightly, Lupin nodded. "You like her a great deal more than you let on, don't you?"

Severus shrugged. "It is difficult to work with someone for a decade and a half without developing a certain fondness of that person."

Remus' smile faded. "Is it?" he asked softly. "I don't suppose I've ever been in any one place long enough to develop much more than a professional respect."

Glancing away, Severus nodded. "Of course," he murmured. Did Lupin have to remind him at every turn that he'd been responsible for the other's departure from Hogwarts? It never occurred to Severus that this constant reminder was not an intentional act on Remus' part. The thought never once crossed Severus' mind that his guilt came entirely from within.

After a lengthy moment of silence, Lupin cleared his throat. "Can I leave a message with you for Dumbledore?" he asked.

"Certainly," Severus replied promptly. "Can it wait a couple of hours to be delivered?"

"Yes," Lupin replied. "May I borrow quill and parchment?"

"Hrm," Severus gestured at his desk. "Top drawer on the right."

Lupin seated himself while Severus moved to the cupboard along the far wall, gathering scrolls into a basket. Scrolls he'd finally finished marking, and which signified that he was better than half-way through the tedious task now.

"How do you find anything in this drawer?" Lupin asked, and Severus half-turned, scowling.

"Your _other_ right, you dunderhead."

"Oh." Lupin grinned sheepishly, and was shutting the drawer that Severus had such a tendency of piling things into. Things he didn't have the time or energy for. Things like random invitations to dinner and indignant letters from parents. "Wait, now, what's this?" Lupin had nearly finished closing the drawer when he suddenly slid it open again, his fingers reaching against the side, under several loose leafs of parchment. His hand resurfaced with a small, black velvet box, and he grinned suddenly. "For Autumn?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

Severus sighed and crossed the room in three strides, plucking the box from Lupin's hand and shutting the drawer with conviction. "Parchment and quill and ink and whatever else you might need to compose a note to the Headmaster are in _this_ drawer," he informed the werewolf, a little more acerbically than was strictly necessary.

"What's in the box?" Lupin asked persistently as he removed a sheet of parchment and a quill from the correct drawer.

"None of…"

"Of my affair, I know. I thought we'd been through that, though. Are you intending to sweep Autumn off her feet? Romantic dinner planned and…"

Severus snorted. "The only way we have a romantic dinner is if she cooks it," he said dryly. "And no, as a matter of fact, I'd forgotten this was even in there. It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like 'nothing'," Remus replied, his head bent over the parchment as he scrawled a note. "Come on, what's it hurt to tell me? I won't spoil your surprise."

"I know."

Lupin glanced up. "You do?" he asked softly. "I'm rather impressed. Have I progressed that far in your esteem?"

Severus didn't take quite the delight he normally would have in seeing Remus take his bait. "No," he replied smoothly, with the confidence of one springing a carefully laid trap, though his voice was laced with something more easily defined as sorrow. "It would be quite difficult for you to spoil the surprise, as it was a surprise intended for Aislinn."

"Oh." Lupin stood and closed the distance between them. Severus could feel his hand hovering dangerously near his shoulder.

"Do not touch me," he murmured in his low, warning tone, and Remus' hand dropped away.

"I'm sorry," Lupin whispered. "Truly."

Severus was staring at the tiny black box, but his eyes were not on the velvet-covered container. "It hardly matters," he replied.

"May I ask what it is?" Remus asked softly, and for a moment, Severus was tempted to tell him to sod off. He merely shrugged, though, and dropped the box into Lupin's hands, not even looking at him. A moment later, the werewolf drew his breath in sharply. "Is that…?"

"It's real," Severus replied, not even waiting for the question to finish forming.

"Real what?" Lupin asked, sounding vaguely weak.

"Rubies," Severus responded, moving back to his book shelf and selecting the volumes he would need for the next class.

"May I ask what was the occasion?"

Severus' lip twitched. "Valentine's Day," he whispered. "She gave me gifts for Christmas, and I had nothing for her, and then she gave me birthday gifts. I suppose I was determined not to fuck up again. I wish I'd given them to her sooner, though." He turned slowly to Lupin, who was holding a glimmering silver and gold filigree heart filled with fair-sized rubies that caught the light as the pendant twisted slowly on a gold and silver braided chain. Remus offered the necklace to Severus, who plucked it from the other man's fingers and then dropped it unceremoniously back into the box. He shut the box with a snap. "One in a long list of regrets," he commented dryly.

"Why do you keep it?" Remus asked softly.

"And what am I to do with it?" Severus asked in reply. "I had it custom made, so I can't very well return it."

"Why don't you give it to Autumn?"

Severus snorted. "And I thought I was the one with no social competence."

"So you're just going to keep it in your desk drawer indefinitely?" Remus asked. "It must have cost you a small fortune."

Shrugging, Severus dropped the box back into his desk drawer. "Not really," he murmured. "I'd have paid ten times as much if I could have had the chance to make her smile once more." He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked away. "I am _certain,_ Lupin, that I told you not to touch me."

"Of course." The weight on his shoulder disappeared.

"Have you finished your note to the Headmaster?"

"Yes."

"I'll see he gets it." Severus held out a hand, and when Remus placed the folded parchment in it, he tucked the page into his pocket.

"Thank you."

"Now, at the expense of seeming rude, I do have a class coming in…"

Lupin nodded and turned for the fireplace, then paused and turned back into the room. He picked up the three bottles Severus had offered. "Thank you," he said, indicating the bottles.

"Not at all."


	34. Charmed

"So, what has Remus already told you?" It was nine that evening before Severus Flooed into the kitchen at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. All the detentions he had initially scheduled for Wednesday evening had been moved to Thursday evening, and he was in nearly as miserable a spirit as was humanly possible. And he had _more_ scrolls to mark now. What had _ever_ possessed him to make those students write essays? He was tempted to skim them and give them either pass or fail grades, but he knew he wouldn't. He also knew he was going to have to set aside time this weekend, without interruption, to mark those things. If he could keep his mind on the task for more than an hour at a time. Today he had realized with a jolt that the new moon was on Saturday, and he'd wasted far too much time. He was going to have to make his excuses to Autumn, and hopefully find the chance to explain more things later.

"A lot of things," she replied, grimacing slightly. "But I think I've already forgotten most of it."

He snorted softly.

"It's a lot to absorb at once!" she protested, and he leaned forward, kissing her pouting lips.

"Don't worry about it, then," he whispered, brushing his thumb against her lower lip. "There will be plenty of time later for explanations."

"I do remember he told me that you're a potions master. Is that as impressive as it sounds?" She looked up at him, her eyes shining like sherry in the sunlight, and at that moment, Severus didn't know whether to kiss her or to find Remus and kiss him for planting the idea in her head that he was impressive.

"It's a fair accomplishment," he replied softly, gesturing for her to join him on the sofa, which she did. It was more than a fair accomplishment, in all actuality. It was the cumulation of many years of work and research, and for him to have attained the coveted title at such a young age was just short of remarkable. At thirty-seven, he was a young potions master. When he'd earned the title ten years ago, he'd been astonishingly young.

She smiled at him as she settled against his shoulder. "Will you show me something?" she asked.

"What do you want me to show you? I haven't the materials to brew a potion if that's what you're asking, and it isn't particularly interesting to watch, anyway, unless you have a special interest in it." Some part of him wished that he _could_ share that particular fascination with her, but he didn't think she would be enraptured by the way a vapor curled from the depths of a cauldron.

She shrugged slightly and he moved his arm to cradle her against him. "I don't know. I'm sure I'd find it scintillating if it were you making it. But let's see... Remus turned a teacup into a snail. Can you do anything like that?"

He shook his head slightly and kissed the top of her head, having just been proven right. Of course, of all the things she would be interested in, it would be the ostentatious forms of magic. _Be fair, Severus. As a Muggle, she is most interested in those things she can easily see and comprehend._ "Hrm," he murmured, absently stroking her hair, "let's see." He considered her request carefully. Transifguration was decidedly _not_ his strongest point, and he didn't want to make a fool of himself. It had been years since he'd even tried to turn a teacup into a snail, or anything similar. A difficult branch of magic, and an utterly useless one, in Severus' estimation. He found it easier to conjure something from mid-air than to change one thing into another. Hrm. That idea had some merit. He straightened, moving away from Autumn and removing his wand from his pocket. He pointed his wand towards the middle of the room and spoke in a soft, but commanding tone. "_Orchideous_."

A bright bouquet of white lillies appeared at the end of his wand, and he plucked them from the tip, offering them to Autumn, who looked simply delighted. As she held them to her face, a mischievous impulse made Severus point his wand at her and murmur a softly-spoken incantation, and the lillies erupted into a swarm of butterflies, which turned Autumn's smile into a delighted laugh.

"Will that do?" Severus asked, leaning back against the sofa again. Autumn resumed her position in his arms, watching the butterflies.

"What else can you do?" she asked, and he chuckled. This could literally stretch on for days. Not, of couse, that he was complaining if it meant sitting here, ignoring the world, and conjuring flowers and butterflies for a charming young woman who made him forget, if only momentarily, that he led anything but a happy life.

Frowning, he looked around the room for a moment, then pointed his wand at a lamp on the table. With a little coaxing (charms were not his strongest point, either, and the lamp seemed particularly stubborn), Severus managed to convince the tall light to dance around the sofa, eliciting a stream of giggles from his charming companion. The giggles drew Lupin into the room, and he chuckled as the lamp bowed to Autumn, taking her hand and 'kissing' it with a light dusting of fringe across her knuckles.

Severus glanced up at the sound of Lupin's laughter, and shrugged somewhat apologetically.

Willow was there too, and she laughed as well, seating herself beside Autumn. "Can you turn a pumpkin into a coach?" she asked, as though this were a perfectly normal and expected request. Autumn snorted.

"A pumpkin?" Severus asked, at the same time that Lupin repeated, "A coach?"

"Yeah," Willow tucked her feet under her. "So that the vines become the wheels and a leaf becomes the driver's seat."

Lupin had folded his arms and was leaning against the doorjam, apparently in deep thought, contemplating this unlikely request. Autumn was snickering into her hand, and Willow was sitting there as though she'd asked something no more unusual than if she could have a cup of tea. Severus was still trying to get past the pumpkin.

"Well?" Autumn asked, obviously fighting more laughter. "Can it be done?"

Severus shrugged. "I'm sure it _can_ be," he replied, frowning at Lupin, "but I don't know why anyone would want to." His frown deepened. "I don't know that I could do it."

"I don't know if I could, either," Remus said, shaking his head.

"Would it hurt to try?" Willow asked.

"We don't have a pumpkin," Remus pointed out, and Willow deflated slightly.

"Can't you just make one?" Autumn asked, looking at Severus now. "Like you made the flowers?"

Severus considered that for a moment, and then pointed his wand at the floor in the middle of the room, then lowered his wand, frowning. "Why a pumpkin?" he asked, staring at the two women. "Where did you come up with a _pumpkin_?"

Willow shrugged gracefully, and there was nothing graceful about Autumn's laughter. "Just humor me, or tell me you can't," Willow replied. "Or you won't. I'll accept any of that."

"Please?" Autumn asked, her eyes sparkling.

Severus glanced at Lupin again, who shrugged. "I don't suppose it would hurt to try..." he said, sounding a bit doubtful. "At least, won't hurt anything except our pride if we can't manage it."

After a moment's consideration, Severus pointed his wand at the middle of the room again, and a pumpkin appeared, bright orange, twirling vines, looking entirely out of place in the middle of May. "The vines are the wheels, hrm?" he walked around the pumpkin slowly, considering it, tracing his lips with a fingertip.

After a moment of studying it, he pointed his wand at it and made the first effort. He was rewarded with a pumpkin with a door, and Remus snorted. Scowling, Severus waved at the pumpkin. "Fine. You do it." He stalked out of the way, and leaned against the wall, letting Lupin have a crack at the pumpkin.

Crack was an understatement as it happened; the thing split in half as a seat appeared inside without the shell expanding to accommodate it. With a chuckle, Remus conjured another pumpkin and tried again. This time the result was a pumpkin with a door and one lopsided wheel, and, despite his determination to be more polite than Lupin had been, Severus couldn't quite hide his snigger. The pumpkin toppled over and busted open again.

"_Evanesco,_" he intoned, and the pumpkin disappeared, and, with another wave of his wand, he brought forth another, and then set to studying it again.

Lupin stood beside him, looking at it as contemplatively as Severus was. "What do you think?" the werewolf asked softly.

Severus shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "I think it can be done. There's no reason it _shouldn't_ be possible."

Lupin nodded. "Maybe..." he looked over at Autumn and Willow, who had stopped laughing and were watching, fascinated. "What should this coach look like?" he asked.

"It's white," Willow replied. "And it looks like a really big pumpkin. With gold and silver trim around the doors and windows. The wheels are silver."

"White," Severus repeated.

Autumn nodded. "Shiny white. Kind of like a pearl, only... like a pumpkin."

Lupin scrubbed a hand over his face, and Severus suspected it was to hide a laugh. Like a pearl like a pumpkin. He pointed his wand and tried again, and this time the pumpkin grew several feet tall before it exploded, coating the room with pumpkin seed and sticky juice, which was still yellow-ish orange, incidentally. Lupin stopped trying to not laugh.

"_Scourgify!_" Severus hissed, cleaning up the mess and then vanishing it.

Lupin conjured another pumpkin, and he made it swell to what had to be eight feet tall, and then turned it a pearly white. After a moment of a large white pumpkin sitting in the drawing room, Severus had to admit that Lupin was making progress. He had one wheel formed, and another one forming, though the second was turning out to be more squared than rounded. "Severus, can you lift it?" he asked, frowning as he tried yet again to make the wheel more circular.

"Right," Severus muttered. "Make me responsible for dropping it. _Leviosa!_" He lifted it a few inches off the floor, concentrating carefully on holding it up. After several minutes of trying, Lupin coaxed another round wheel ou of the vines, and then a third. The one that had begun squarishly, though, remained squarish, despite his efforts.

"Any ideas?" Lupin asked Severus as Severus eased the pumpkin-carriage back down. Severus frowned at it for a moment, then looked at the two women.

"Silver wheels?" he verified, and they both nodded, watching wide-eyed and with enchanted grins on their faces. Severus turned back to Lupin. "Maybe," he murmured. "Can you lift it?"

Lupin elevated it by a few inches, and, when he was sure the werewolf could keep it there, Severus murmured an incantation that changed the vines into silver, and then another that heated the offending wheel until the silver was more pliable. He coaxed it into a rounded shape, and then cast a cooling spell, which hardened the wheel. When Lupin let it down again, the coach sat lightly on its four wheels, which were probably too off-balance for use.

_Use?_ Severus rolled his eyes at his train of thought. There was no _use_ to this. It was a challenge, now, and that was the only reason he was still at it, and he suspected that was the reason Lupin was still at it. Too stubborn, either of them, to admit defeat.

"Now what?" Severus asked, taking a step back again.

"It needs a door," Lupin responded doubtfully. "But every time we've tried to carve the door, it collapses because..."

"Because the rind is too weak to support it," Severus finished, nodding. "But if we turn it to..." he paused, trying to think of what, precisely, they would be turning it to.

"Enamel, maybe?" Lupin suggested, apparently considering the same thing.

"Still too week, I think," Severus murmured. "It would almost have to be a metal of some sort, I'd think." 

"We can always charm it to maintain the color," Remus pointed out, and Severus nodded.

"Aluminum?" he asked speculatively. "I'm afraid anything too heavy would damage the wheels—they aren't very sturdy-looking."

"I think you're right." After a moment of speculation, Lupin murmured the spell to turn the pumpkin aluminum, and then began the task of coaxing a door to emerge from the side of it.

Unfortunately, the pumpkin/coach suddenly began to shrink again, and despite their best attempts, Severus and Lupin found themselves staring at a slightly-larger-than normal pumpkin suspended between four wheels, a door carved into the aluminum shell, and seeds and juice spilling out of it. Both men were staring at it when an all-too-familiar voice behind them made them whirl.

"Just what is going on in here?"

"Professor McGonagall!"

"Minerva!"

Severus had the most ridiculous urge to shove his wand into his pocket and pretend he had nothing to do with the mess, and Lupin apparently had the same urge, but was less successful at suppressing it.

"What is that?" Minerva asked, stepping gingerly into the room, staring at the mess. And it was a mess. One of the wheels had begun to tilt inward, and the pumpkin was on the verge of splitting in two again.

"Erm..."

"Uhh..."

"It was my fault," Willow piped up. "They were giving us a demonstration of magic and I asked them to turn a pumpkin into a coach."

"A pumpkin into a coach," Minerva repeated, and then looked at the two men. "Honestly, I would have expected more sense from either of you. Especially you, Severus. And what would you have done if you _had_ managed to transfigure a pumpkin into a coach? In the middle of the _drawing room!_ It would have filled the entire room, and _then_ what would you have done with it?"

Severus and Remus exchanged guilty glances, and came to an unspoken agreement not to tell Minerva that there _had_ been a full-sized coach in the drawing room. And, from the looks of the still-growing mess on the floor, the shrinking of the pumpkin shell had not reduced the amount of seed and juice inside it.

Luckily, though, Minerva was studying the pumpkin now, sidestepping a stream of juice oozing out of it. "And why on _earth_ didn't you at least carve the seeds out of it before you started?" she asked, shaking her head. "Really."

Severus grimaced. That would have been a painfully obvious solution to their persistent problem with it bursting open, wouldn't it? "Ah," he murmured. "Transfiguration was never my strongest..."

"All the more reason for you not to be trying it! Honestly! If you two were students I'd have your heads for attempting such a thing!"

Remus cleared his throat. "Umm, why don't we... ah..." he waved his wand in the general direction of the mess, and Severus nodded.

"Right."

Severus studiously avoided looking at either Autumn or Willow, but he knew when Minerva ushered the two of them out of the room, leaving Severus and Remus to clean up their mess in peace.

* * *

Half an hour later, Severus and Remus had managed to vanish all of the remnants of their experimentation with the pumpkin. The entire room had been scourgified from floor to ceiling, and neither had dared look at the other when they found pumpkin juice behind the sideboard. It had been a largely silent endeavour, and for his part, Severus was repeating Minerva's admonitions—he really should have known better. _This is what you get for trying to show off._

They emerged into the kitchen just in time to for Severus to witness Autumn popping something into her mouth and then swallowing it. As he seated himself beside her, she capped the bottle of whatever it was she'd just consumed and was reaching for her handbag. He stopped her, placing a hand over her wrist. "What is that?" he asked quietly.

"This?" she held up the bottle. "Paramol."

He lifted an eyebrow. "And that is...?"

"Erm," she looked at the bottle, and then opened it again, shaking a few small, white, oval-shaped beads into her hand. "It's a pain killer?" She didn't sound too sure of herself. "Really good for headaches and muscle aches and... general aches."

He plucked one of the pills from her hand and held it up, studying it for a minute. "It's a potion?" he asked, frowning at it.

"I think it's a compressed powder or... something. I don't really know. It's medicine. Don't you have medicines? Or does no one ever get a headache?"

Severus turned the pill over in his hand. "Of course we get headaches. And there are a number of effective potions for it that you can buy at any apothecary. These... Paramol?" He glanced at her and she nodded. "They're very... smooth. They don't feel powdery." He flicked his thumbnail against the shiny surface, and frowned when nothing happened. "Are you sure it's medicine?"

Autumn sighed. "Of course I'm sure!" she replied. "It has a coating on it to make it easier to swallow. Taste's really awful if you let it dissolve in your mouth, you know. But if you cut it open, you'll see it's more powdery."

He continued to study it, his mind working at full tilt with the possibilities. "Pity you couldn't put liquid in something like that. Most medicinal potions have an abysmal taste."

"You could probably fill a gel capsule with liquid," Autumn offered, and he looked at her.

"A gel capsule?"

"Mm. We're getting into things I don't know anything about, but there are pills that have liquids inside, and they're usually in a gel capsule."

"What is that?"

She shook her head. "I really don't know. It's a little container that you swallow and it dissolves once it's in your stomach and releases the medicine. And really, Severus, that's the best explanation I can offer."

"Where do you get such things?" he asked, and she shrugged.

"A pharmacy, usually."

"Do you have any?"

"I don't think I have any with me, but I could probably get some. Why are you so interested in them?"

He had his reasons, and few that he was particularly eager to discuss with Autumn. His mind was still spinning around this revelation, though. "Just something I've never seen before," he replied, turning the pill over in his hand once more. "May I keep this?"

She laughed softly, and plucked the pill from his hand, dropping it back into the bottle. "You can have them all if you want them," she told him, placing the bottle in his palm. "I wouldn't have dreamed it would be quite that easy to make you happy."

As he considered the bottle of pills, his thoughts were all but screaming. _You've no idea._

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating! I had to take some time out and make a few decisions about what scenes to include in the rest of the fic. It was shaping up for another 100K words (yikes!)

hecate: I said it before and I'll say it again-- Aislinn simply had to die. I think she was almost a plot mechanism so I could get Severus with Autumn. Autumn is really more how I envisioned Aislinn originally, but Aislinn took on a life of her own without consulting me. And, as it happens, I think that there might be yet another addition to this story, though I'm still debating whether it's going to be a Lupin fic or a Snape fic. Or both. And I don't think I'm done with Willow, but I'm not sure how she's going to factor into anything...

west dean-- regarding the PG13... I've been thinking about that since you posted. Really I have. My gut instinct is that if this were a movie with similar language, themes and plot, it would be rated R for excessive use of a four-letter word if nothing else. But there's nothing particularly violent or raunchy in it... So I don't know. Not that I guess it really matters, anyway, though, does it? I think too much, I know.

And...Thank you all for the reviews :)


	35. The Focal Point of Chaos

"Miss Granger, you will remain after class." It was not a request, but a command, and though softly spoken and without any particular malice, it had the desired result. Hermione Granger looked up from the cauldron she shared with Neville, her eyes wide and her mouth working furiously. Severus only met her eyes for a moment before turning away from her and moving towards the cauldron Draco and Pansy were sharing.

There was some small part of him that wished he could alleviate her humiliation at being called to remain after class, but only a small part. She had done nothing wrong, true, but it was his prerogative as a teacher to detain her if he saw fit. Which he did. And if she immediately assumed the worst, well, that was just as well. He didn't need the rest of the school to know that his reasons were anything but his normal, sour-tempered demands.

Glancing up from across the room, Severus couldn't help a smirk as he saw Hermione peering into her cauldron and then frowning at the book on the table in front of her, and then looking at her ingredients. No doubt she was trying to work out what she'd done wrong with the potion. _You know, it wouldn't kill you to tell her she does an excellent job in your class. It would probably mean the world to her._ He wasn't going to tell her any such thing, of course, but it was an interesting thought.

"Gently, Mr. Malfoy," Severus murmured, turning his attention back to Draco, who was stirring a hopelessly brown mixture that should have been golden yellow. Severus didn't think he could salvage it even if he shooed the two students away from it, but they could at least keep following the procedure in the book and not make it worse. "You needn't beat it like eggs." His hand closed over top of Draco's and slowed the stirring a to a steady, even motion, then left the two Slytherins to their cauldron.

Crossing the room again to peer into the pewter receptacle that Potter was sharing with Weasley, Severus sighed inwardly. "You added the ivy shoots too soon, Potter," he said quietly, and then took the glass rod from Weasley's hand, stirring it himself. He grimaced as the rod came into contact with something solid, and he fished it out with the rod. Scowling, he lifted the rod, an ivy leaf draped over the end of it. "Do you pay attention in any of your classes, Mr. Weasley?" he asked dryly, letting the leaf slide back into the mix. "Because I would expect any Second Year to know the difference between a _leaf_ and a _shoot._"

Neither of the boys had anything to say to him, and shaking his head, Severus turned away. "Five points from Gryffindor, for inexcusable ignorance." His announcement was rewarded with snickers from the Slytherins present.

Severus stalked quickly and briskly across the room and seated himself at his desk again, his eyes on a piece of parchment. His eyes, not that any of his students had likely noticed, were rimmed in red, and the circles under them were darker shadows than normal. He'd not even gone to bed last night, and if his body protested being forced to function with only a few hours of sleep, it positively rebelled at no sleep at all. He didn't pay it the least bit of attention, though, as he willed himself to continue working.

He had finished grading the essay scrolls as the sounds of students traipsing off to breakfast had filled the stone corridors above him, and he'd finished recording all those grades just before the first bell rang, signifying the beginning of classes. He hadn't spent the entire night grading, though, just most of it. Interrupted by forays to his book shelves to look at one or another text, skimming through the information with a frown on his face as the books invariably failed to tell him what he wanted to know. Nothing could ever be that easy.

He'd had plenty of time to think, though, and he thought he'd come to a conclusion. A conclusion he only wished he'd come to a week earlier, as it would have been advantageous to have a week to test these ideas of his. As it was, he was going to be taking a dangerous chance. Dangerous on many levels. Like walking a tightrope over a canyon.

It hadn't been until the Sixth Year students had walked in and Severus had seen Potter and Granger that the idea had finally occurred to him. Perhaps he was trying to make it more difficult than it was. After all, Muggles did not have impervious spells at their disposal, so it was unlikely that they used such a method in their technology. And who better to know how Muggles did something than a Muggleborn? Particularly a very bright Muggle-born student who had a knack for knowing the answer to any question anyone ever bothered to pose to her. He wasn't holding his breath, but he could bring himself to hope.

When class was over and he had the vials of potions lined up on his desk, each labeled with students' names, hopefully, and all the cauldrons had been cleaned and tables wiped down, Severus dismissed the class 'early'. Which is to say that he dismissed them in time for the ones nearest the door to reach the door just as the bell rang. Hermione was still in her seat, not moving.

"You want us to wait for you, Hermione?" It was a softly spoken question, and Severus waited impatiently for Miss Granger to respond to Harry's query.

"No," she replied, "I'll see you in the common room later."

"How long do you think you'll be?" Ron asked.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "How should I know, Ronald? I don't even know why he asked me to stay."

Severus might have snorted in amusement were the others not likely to hear him. Instead he cleared his throat softly. "If the two of you are so interested in remaining in the dungeons, I will be more than happy to indulge your taste for it with a detention," he said pointedly, and both Harry and Ron gave Hermione apologetic smiles and all but tripped over themselves getting out of the classroom. As soon as they were gone, Severus pointed his wand at the doors, shutting them firmly.

"Well, Miss Granger," he began, crossing the room and pulling a stool from the table in front of hers, and sitting in it so that his eyes were level with hers. "I suppose you would like to know why I asked you to stay."

"Yes, Professor," she replied, and he noticed that her voice did not shake. She was not, he had suspected for some time, as afraid of him as so many of his students were. And yet, she was probably the most respectful of the Gryffindors. Ironic, that.

"Then I see no point in delaying. Though I must warn you—what I am about to say is not to leave this room, nor our confidence. Is that quite clear?"

"Yes, sir."

He rose slightly and plunged his hand into his pocket, bringing out the pills Autumn had given him, and he dropped a few of them on the table in front of her. "Do you know what these are?" he asked.

She picked up one of them and turned it over in her hand. "Paramol," she replied. "Do you have a headache? They're not as effective as..."

"Silence, Miss Granger, I did not ask you to stay so you could give me medical advice." He looked at the capsule again, and then at her. "What do you know about this?" he asked, pointing at the small scattering of pills. She frowned.

"They're... drugs. Muggle pain relief and fever reducing drugs."

"And what is in them?"

"Paracetamol and codeine," she replied confidently, though her face was confused.

"And what are those?"

She looked at them again and shook her head. "Chemicals? I'm not really sure exactly. Paracetamol is the generic name for a certain combination of... I really don't know, Professor. They're _medicine_."

He frowned at the pills and drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. That was the brick wall he kept hitting from every angle. They're _medicine_. It didn't seem to matter what was _in_ something, if you called it _medicine_ a Muggle was likely to take it, it seemed.

"May..." she began, then paused for a moment, and he glanced at her again. "May I ask why you want to know?"

He considered telling her it was none of her affair. He was more than a little disenchanted by the idea of explaining himself to any of his students, least of all one of the Dream Team. But, he supposed he could offer something by way of explanation. Something vague. "I am trying to develop a way to put a potion into a similar design," he replied after a long pause. "But I find myself at a decided disadvantage, not knowing what the Muggles did to accomplish this," he gestured at the pills.

Hermione stared at the pill in her hand for a moment. "You want to make a pill out of a liquid?" she asked softly, worrying her lower lip.

He watched her carefully, and then nodded. "Yes." She continued to worry her lip. "If you have a suggestion, Miss Granger, voice it."

She dropped the pill onto the table and reached down, digging in her book bag for a moment. She came up with a small cloth bag which she unzipped and upended onto the table. An array of... things... tumbled out of it, and, with deft fingers, she sorted through the jumble of tubes, pencils and small foil packets, and picked out the packets and a bottle, then shoved everything else aside. Reaching into her bag again, she produced a handkerchief, which she spread on the table, and then opened the bottle, emptying it onto the cloth. A variety of pills tumbled onto the linen, and after a moment, she came up with one.

"I was sure I had one in here somewhere," she announced with a smile, and placed a shiny, plastic-looking capsule in his hand. "A gel cap," she said, "though I don't know if it would hold a liquid very well."

"And what exactly is a gel cap?"

"I think they're made of animal byproducts. They dissolve in liquid."

"Then putting a liquid inside one would be out of the question, Miss Granger. Do Muggles not use liquids?" He placed the capsule on the corner of the handkerchief and folded his hands atop the table.

"Well, yes, but they're usually just drunk or taken with a spoon. Just like a potion."

He sighed. "Then I'm back where I began. How to put a potion into this sort of design."

She was moving the various pills around on her handkerchief, looking at them, and suddenly her hand paused over one. "I wonder..." she murmured, and he looked at her oddly. She was digging in her bag again, and came up with a small packet of what appeared to be hard candies. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing with food in the classroom, but shut it as she unwrapped one and placed it on the corner of her handkerchief. "Cough drops," she explained, and he picked up the bright red candy.

"You have candy to make you cough?" he asked, a little skeptical. It sounded like a Wheeze to him.

She laughed, but a glare from him silenced her. "No," she answered, still trying to suppress a giggle, "it's to make you _stop_ coughing. Could the potion you have in mind be combined with sugar without losing its potency?"

"Yes," he replied, frowning at the 'cough drop'. "It could be combined with almost anything, actually."

"If you add enough sugar to it, will it make crystals, then?" she asked. "Because you could put crystals in a gel cap."

"The potion would need to be absorbed into the blood stream immediately, and all at once, if it is to be effective. Crystallized sugar would take too much time." He placed the cough drop back on her handkerchief.

She was frowning again. "But if you crushed the crystals?" she asked.

He considered that for a moment. "All right, for the sake of argument, then, how would one go about getting sugar crystals into a... gel cap?"

She frowned at the collection of pills. "I really don't know," she admitted. "My parents might. I could try to find out."

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't pursue the line of thought. "I haven't the time for you to research it, though you might pursue that on your own, Miss Granger," he suggested.

She frowned again, then picked up the cough drop again. "I wonder if you couldn't use a sugar coating of some sort," she speculated. "Like a sugar-water mixture or something, to make a shell that you could fill with the crystals?"

"A sugar shell would dissolve too quickly. The same thing that makes it a suitable solution for solidifying a potion makes it unsuitable for this casing."

"What if you used oil instead of water?"

He frowned slightly. "But how long would it take that to dissolve?"

"A thick layer of sugar-water over a very thin layer of sugar-oil?"

"I think I grasp you concept, Miss Granger," he said dryly. "Do you have any other ideas?"

She sighed and seemed to think for a minute. "Mostly other variations of the same theme," she admitted. "Though perhaps... maybe it could be done similar to a hard candy?"

"Forget sugary concoctions."

She scowled. "How about a fragile glass vial, then?" she asked with a note of what he suspected was sarcasm. "If it's a poison, then it could be a race between the poison and the glass in the intestines as to what would kill someone."

Until that point, he'd managed to forget that she was a student for a few minutes, and he'd merely been bantering a problem about with someone else whose mind he respected. The comment, however, was an abrupt reminder that she was a child still, and he could not expect her to remain mature and intellectual for more than five minutes at a time. He was expecting too much from her, he supposed. "That was uncalled for, Miss Granger," he said softly. "And you're very lucky I'm not inclined to assign any more detentions just now. I would advise you to remember that I am a professor and..."

"And I'm a student. Yes, Professor Snape, I know. I just _don't_ know what you want." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."

"You may go."

"Is there anything else I can do to help, Professor? I really didn't mean to—"

"I said you may _go_."

She looked vaguely disappointed, but nodded and began gathering her things. Severus gave the array of medicines on her handkerchief one last glance, his mind a swirling mass of chaotic half-thoughts, but slowly, the chaos was beginning to develop a focal point. He wasn't sure what it was, but he knew that there was an idea in all that chaos. And if he waited patiently enough, it would present itself.

* * *

_A/N: No, Cecelle, I'm not European, actually. I just took the time to research that tidbit of information. I asked Jeeves if there was Tylenol in Britain, and found a VERY helpful article some American exchange student had written for the benefit of others doing exchange terms in Europe. And that was one of the things in it-- the British equivalents to certain common over the counter American drugs. And thanks for catching the spelling error ;)_


	36. Preparations

A knock on his door brought Severus' head up, and he called a curt command. "Enter!"

The door opened and Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter exchanged glances, as though entertaining a silent battle as to which would go first. Apparently, Weasley lost the battle, as he took the first step into Severus' office. "We're... uh... here to serve our detention, sir."

"Very well, then, put your things in the corner. There's a cauldron set up in the classroom, and the ingredients you will need are in the cupboard. And _no foolishness._" His eyes narrowed as he said this last, just daring the two boys to try anything. Potter and Weasley obeyed, dropping their book bags by the wall and then walking, subdued, into the classroom. The door was open and Severus could see into the class from where he sat in his office. He hadn't the time to babysit them.

He watched them for a moment, and when he was satisfied that they were working quietly, he turned his attention back to the project in front of him. There were three Muggle-looking pills on a small dish, and, taking a deep breath, Severus put all three in his mouth at once and then swallowed them. He looked at the clock on his mantle and made note of the time on the parchment in front of his desk, and then busied himself reading over more of his notes again.

Minutes ticked by, and suddenly, he gasped as a sharp pain wrenched at his stomach, twisting his gut until he thought he would either break in half or die of the pain. When the cramp eased, he took a steadying breath and made a careful note of the time with a shaky hand. Six minutes. Six minutes from the time he put the pill in his mouth until it seemed to activate itself in his stomach. Another pain wrenched at him, and he gripped the arm of his chair to keep from crying out. A glance into the classroom told him that Potter and Weasley were busily chopping Alihotsy leaves and utterly oblivious to the suffering of their professor. Which was as he wanted—Severus had no desire for any of his students to see him in such a state, least of all those two.

Another agonizing pain seared through his body, but this one was replaced slowly by a numbness; the body, he had learned long ago, had an amazing ability to turn off pain receptors after a certain amount of exposure. It was a lesson anyone who used torture had to learn—if one did not alternate soothing, comforting sensations with the pain, then the pain would all too quickly render a victim immune to it. Severus had never been particularly adept at physical torture, praise whatever deities controlled such things. He'd been quite skilled at wringing information from unlikely sources, and he still was, but his methods had more to do with an ability to incite fear than anything he actually _did_. And, he could rationalize that no matter how intense his gaze and no matter how deadly his voice, he did not _hurt_ anyone to get what he wanted.

For several minutes more, he rode wave after wave of excruciating pain—he had chosen this particular potion as one to test with because of the pain it induced. It was difficult to ignore, and difficult to develop an immunity to it, and it was extraordinarily easy to identify the onset of the symptoms. After thirteen minutes of ever-more excruciating bouts with the pain, he suddenly felt a wave of numbness sweep over him, and the world seemed to lurch alarmingly. As he made note of the time, he had a distant awareness that his notation of the time was lopsided, but he hoped it would be legible later when he set about deciphering it. The light-headed, world-spinning, dizzy, almost giddy feeling left him slumping in his chair; the Felicious Draught had roughly the same effect as half a bottle of Firewhiskey, but without the misery the next morning. As dangerous a potion as they came, really, for there were few who would not want this dizzying high on a permanent basis.

As suddenly as the first pang had begun, his head cleared and the world abruptly stopped its spinning. He made a final note of the time. It had been a total of 27 minutes since he'd taken the pills, and he'd proven to himself that something was, indeed, possible here. Now he simply had to figure out precisely how to use it. He shuffled his notes and looked through them again, reading carefully, his quill making idle notations. He needed something powerful, of course. And something that would not be rendered ineffective by the method of delivery. The Draught of Living Death was not an option as the antidote was too finicky, had to be administered at precisely the right levels, and was fatal if overdosed.

Maybe... he stood suddenly and stalked to one of the book shelves, his hand moving confidently to the fourth shelf, halfway along the length, and he thumbed through the pages until he found what he was looking for. The Soporis Serum. A sleeping draught that was stronger than Dreamless Sleep, yet not so potent as Living Death. It had been developed to give relief to those who were hit with the Cruciatus Curse, before the more effective potions were developed. And, the antidote was another potion of simple potency. The Incedus Infusion could be administered at extraordinarily high levels without danger of anything more serious than a headache.

Severus sat at his desk again, looking at the two potions, tapping his forefinger gently against his lower lip. Might work. It was risky, and he wished—_how _he wished—he had more time to test it, but there was no shooting star nearby to wish on, and he'd little faith in such fairytales without Aislinn there to make them come true.

He moved to his private stores, checking ingredients for the four potions he needed to brew. His mind was heavy with doubt as he pulled the ingredients from the cupboards and jars, and he did not even notice the pale blue shimmer of vapor rising from the boys' cauldron in the classroom. It was, perhaps, an injustice to Potter and Weasley that he hadn't more attention to focus on their success, as their potion was rivaling anything that Padma Patil and Lisa Turpin had done in his classes. As it was, he was only vaguely aware when the boys placed their flask on his desk and left, their detention served.

* * *

It was just after noon when Severus took himself to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. After murmuring the password (toffee crunch) to the statue, the Potions Master stepped onto the spiraling staircase and waited as it coiled and spun upwards, lifting him into the tower. When he emerged into the antechamber of Dumbledore's office, Severus found himself unsure if he hoped the Headmaster would or would not be there. It was fairly likely he would not be, of course, given that it was lunchtime, but there was always a chance with Dumbledore that he would turn up where and when he was least expected.

It was no particular surprise, though, to find the office empty. Severus crossed the room slowly and withdrew a vial of crimson liquid—his own blood—from his robes, and was glancing around for a place to put it when he heard the gargoyle moving once more. Turning, he watched in silence as Dumbledore's head emerged, followed in short order by the rest of him.

"Ah, Severus. I had rather expected you would be at Headquarters," the Headmaster observed as he stepped into the room.

"I will be momentarily," Severus replied. "But first I needed to bring you this," he held up the vial. "I'd meant to bring it sooner, but it seems I've been distracted."

"Of course." Dumbledore took the vial and placed it in a lacquer box on his desk. "I didn't see you at lunch today," he commented, almost casually. Dumbledore was never casual, though, in his observations or his comments.

"I was busy," Severus replied vaguely. He doubted that would satisfy the Headmaster's curiosity, but he'd learned long ago not to offer more information than was requested.

"I didn't see you at breakfast either. Nor at dinner yesterday."

With a slight snort, Severus replied, "I've been busy, and not particularly hungry."

"You are worried about this evening."

_What was your first clue?_ "I believe I have ample reason to be concerned."

"You have a plan, though." This was said with a confident certainty that reminded Severus once more why he so respected and admired the Headmaster. And how important it was to him that the respect and admiration was returned. That Dumbledore was so confident in his abilities to develop a plan touched Severus on a certain level.

"I have half a plan. A plan I do not know will work." _And a plan I've no intention of sharing with you, because I will not put you in the position I'm putting myself in. _Severus had brewed four cauldrons of potion today, and one of those potions could be quite deadly. If his calculations were off by so much as a tenth of a percent, he would be killing innocent people tonight, he knew without a doubt. _Innocents who would be dying anyway,_ he reminded himself firmly. _You are taking a chance with their lives in the hopes that you can save their lives, and the price of success far outweighs the price of failure._

"Few plans survive the transition from plan to action," Dumbledore said, sounding infinitely wise. Was it age that made him so wise? Years of observations, years to learn and see and do and experience? Severus doubted he would ever live long enough to be so wise, and he respected that wisdom a great deal.

"Well, I hope at least some aspects of this one do," Severus murmured.

For a long moment, neither wizard said a word, but the silence was heavy with unspoken sentiments. Dumbledore trusted him implicitly, but Severus knew that the Headmaster was aware of how high the stakes were tonight. Suddenly, Severus felt exhausted.

"You need sleep, my boy. You were up all night last night, working, weren't you? And the night before as well." _How does he know that?_

Severus sighed. "I'm fine," he insisted.

"You need to be in full control of your mental capacities when you face Voldemort this evening," Dumbledore chided gently, laying a hand on Severus' shoulder. "Really, Severus, why don't you get some sleep?"

Crossing his arms in front of his chest and taking a step back, he shook his head obstinately. "I don't think I could sleep just now if my life depended on it, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked at him critically for a moment. "It very well might. Perhaps a touch of Dreamless Sleep is in order?"

"You know how I feel about sleeping potions."

"And there are always exceptions."

Severus scowled. "Is this an order?" he asked quietly.

"If that's what it requires, then I suppose it is. But I'd rather call it a suggestion from a friend."

"I'll go lie down," he conceded after a moment. "But that is all I will promise. I'm not taking a potion, though." _Not this late in the day, at least._

Dumbledore watched him carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Very well."

* * *

Albus watched until Severus had disappeared into the spiraling staircase again, and then settled himself into a chair, absently stroking his beard. He wished he knew what Severus was planning. He trusted the younger wizard, and was sure that the plan, whatever it was, was well-formed and would be well-executed, but he wished he knew what it was. Perhaps he could have wheedled the information from him, or perhaps not, but it had been a risk Albus wasn't interested in taking, really. Besides, anyone with eyes could see that Severus needed sleep.

_I wish I could afford to merely worry about you and your healing from the wounds you've sustained in the past years, but I haven't that luxury. I **want** you to be happy, Severus, because you are like a son to me, but I **need** you to be in possession of all your considerable skills when you meet with Voldemort next. _

Albus had meant every word he'd said to Severus when the dour Potions Master had consented to a brief respite from his work at Hogwarts. On some level, Dumbledore thought that perhaps Severus _had_ healed a bit in those five days he'd spent at Number Twelve, but it was going to take much more than a week for three decades worth of wounds to heal. Particularly if every time he turned around, more were being inflicted. 

There was little he could do about it now, though. He had tried—god knew he'd tried—to give Severus a reason not to fall under Voldemort's shadow when he was a child. He'd tried to keep him safe, to keep all the students safe, but this was a war that had claimed many victims. One of the most regrettable victims was the innocence of an entire generation of witches and wizards, stripped of their youth when they were still children, and landed in the middle of a battle that should not have been theirs.

And the same thing had happened again now. Severus could not see it, but the world had come full circle in the past twenty-five years, and Voldemort's growing power was only a symptom of the unrest. That was a detail that seemed to slip the minds of everyone from time to time—Voldemort was, indeed, a powerful wizard, and his name struck fear in hearts for good reason, but he was _not_ the problem. He was a face and a name to attach to the problem, a tangible manifestation of an abstract idea that was old as the Order of Merlin. And who was right? Albus couldn't say he was wise enough to know all the answers. He could admit, at least to himself, that he might be wrong. Perhaps it was as had been said for so long—the weakening of the blood would spell the end of the wizarding world. Albus hoped that Severus would live another hundred years, and someday see the world with the clarity of vision that comes only with experience.

Standing, Albus crossed his office and paused at a photograph of himself and his long-time friend and colleague, Nicholas Flamel. "How I wish you were still here, my old friend," he murmured to the photograph. "I've many thoughts that the pensieve won't hold."

It was no use wishing for the past, of course, but, perhaps it was an indication of an old man's follies that he stood there for several long minutes doing just that. He ached for one of his old conversations with Nicholas, a pairing in which he was, for perhaps the only times in the last fifty years, the younger wizard, emptying his soul to one who was older and wiser and had seen more. There were times when it weighed heavily on his soul, providing his counsel. After all, he was a man, like any other, and as prone to lapses in judgement, and as prone to being caught up in the minutiae of day to day life until he forgot to step back and look at the overall pattern of the emerging masterpiece. And he would be fooling no one if he tried to pretend that he hadn't a blind spot when it came to Voldemort, Severus Snape, Harry Potter, the Order of the Phoenix and the questions that drove them all.

He hadn't the luxury of time for doubt, though, and with a sigh, he took the vial of blood from the lacquer box on his desk and then took the map Fred and George had created from another box. On the map key, he placed a single drop of blood by Severus' name, and watched as the liquid formed a bead, then suddenly absorbed into the page, tendrils of crimson scrawling out like vericose veins over the parchment. A moment later, there was a notation by Severus' name. Hogsmeade. Dumbledore sighed softly. The map was not perfect, but it was the best they had.

Tucking the parchment into his robes, Albus stepped over to his fireplace, and took a handful of glittering Floo powder from the bowl atop his mantle. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place," he said, stepping into the emerald flames as they roared to life. A moment later, he was in the kitchen at headquarters.

"Ah, Professor Dumbledore," Lupin greeted him. Albus smiled.

"Remus," he responded with a nod.

"How is Severus?"

"Exhausted, I believe. Unless I am mistaken, he has been up all night doing research for the last two nights."

"Oh," Remus murmured. "That would explain it then."

"Explain what?"

"He'd told Autumn he would be back yesterday, and she's been worrying herself into a state of panic since then."

"Ahh." Albus paused and considered the two Muggle women for a moment. "Do they know about Voldemort?" he asked softly, and Remus shook his head.

"Your guess is as good as mine."

"Perhaps I had better explain things to them, then. Where are they?"

* * *

It was a little past six when Severus woke. As it happened, he'd not had need of Dreamless Sleep potion to coax him into the arms of morpheus; two nights of scant sleep with his head on his desk seemed to have been enough to lull him over the threshold from consciousness. Groaning as he pulled himself from the comfort of his bed, he hauled himself to his feet and yawned, and then forced his feet to move and to carry him to have a shower.

The blast of cold water was a rude awakening, but an effective one, and after a moment, the icy arctic flow became a cascade of cool water that was soothing on many accounts. He gave his hair no more than a cursory scrub under the water, and the rest of his body little more effort, and then stepped out of the stream and took up a towel. Scrubbing himself furiously dry, and then dressed, making a careful inventory of everything he needed and assuring himself that his pockets were full of everything he intended to take with him.

As he was tucking away a last vial of potion, Severus' eye landed on a neatly folded and sealed sheet of parchment. He reached for it and flicked it open, his obsidian eyes skimming quickly over the letter.

_Severus,_

_Willow had a vision this afternoon, and the Order has decided to take her advice. The children will be stationed at Stonehenge, as that seems the most logically safe place for them (and it is also where Willow saw them.) Molly and Arthur will be at Bath. Tonks and Bill will be in London. Minerva and I will be in Glasgow. Shacklebolt and Mundungus will be in Manchester. Lupin and Jones will be in Liverpool..._

The letter went on to list the locations of each of the members of the Order, and Severus read it three times, committing all of their locations to memory. He was not sure what good it would do him to know where everyone was, as there was simply no possibility of Apparating away from the Death Eaters to warn anyone, but he could... Well, it seemed a good idea to memorize them anyway.

_The children will be at Stonehenge._ "Can't they be as effective at Number Twelve?" he asked the letter irritably, but sighed. Someone probably did need to be at Stonehenge, he supposed, on the off chance that something did happen there. And surely, those kids would have been told to simply... what? The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it seemed. "Not even old enough to Apparate yet," he murmured. "At least they should be safe there, and maybe they'll think they're an active part of the Order. Let them watch those rocks all night, I suppose."

He tossed the letter into his fire, and watched the parchment curl and turn black. When there was nothing left but ashes, he extinguished the flames, picked up his black cloak and mask, and stepped out of his office, heading away from Hogwarts.


	37. Whatever is required

It is an odd quirk of human psychology that one can be intensely aware that something will happen, and yet still be surprised when it does. Severus had known for two weeks that as the moon waned, the day of his namesake massacre was drawing closer, and yet, as the sudden burning on his arm announced the summons, it took him by surprise. He'd been prepared, sitting in the Forbidden Forest, away from prying eyes and away from the wards of Hogwarts, so as soon as the mark burned, he was able to stand, don his mask and Disapparate, reappearing at the Dark Lord's side within seconds. Despite his speedy journey, he was not the first to arrive, and, as he fell to the ground in line behind a half-dozen others, he thought that even the Dark Lord could not be displeased by the speed with which his Death Eaters responded this time. Crawling forward on his belly, Severus took the hem of the Dark Lord's cloak and raised it to his lips, then fell away, straightening slowly, almost hesitant to look around. His only hope was that wherever they were, it would be somewhere on the map. Somewhere where the Order would be able to find them. To stop them.

It was as though he'd been punched in the stomach, and for a moment, Severus thought he would be sick. It was impossible not to recognize the location, and it was, of course, on the map. Fat lot of good that it was going to do, since the ones holding the map were in the same location, if they were where they were supposed to be. For once, Severus hoped that they hadn't followed instructions. He kept his eyes on the ground as he took his place in the circle, not daring to look up for fear of what he would see. When he did finally straighten, his fears were confirmed.

In the midst of Stonehenge, huddled in a small cluster, sat the very children whom he had spent the last two weeks insisting were too young to be a part of such dangerous games. He was grateful for the mask, as it allowed him a shelter behind which to stare, aghast and agape, at the six figures. Fred and George, and from this distance, Severus could not tell them apart, had identical looks of terror on their faces, as though they had realized for the first time that this was no prank, and the consequences would be far worse than the threat of expulsion. Harry was staring at him, directly at him, defiant and scornful, his face etched with pure hatred, his eyes darkened with the pain of betrayal. Hermione was crying, but she held her head high, her eyes open, and even from this distance, Severus could almost sense her capable mind working at full tilt, not yet having given up on the possibility of thinking their way out of there. Ron's face was twisted in bitterness, but behind the bitterness, he too seemed to share the sense of betrayal that darkened Harry's eyes. Betrayed by a man they had never trusted, but had finally accepted was helping them, only to prove to be a traitor. It was like a dagger in Severus' heart, and he wished he could turn away from them. He could not, though. he could not be less courageous than they were. His eyes drifted to Ginny, and, surreptitiously, he fingered his pocket. It had been her idea, after all, though it was only now that he realized what a fool he'd been. He wasn't prepared to be facing children.

Keeping his eyes on the gathering of his students, Severus made a silent vow to Harry. _You will live,_ he promised. _And I will do whatever is required to see to it._

"My loyal Death Eaters!" Hastily, Snape closed away the memories that would give lie to his intentions tonight, and he turned his head to the Dark Lord, but kept his eyes on the six students. "This night, as promised under the full moon, we feast. Behold, the first of our prey!" With a laugh like the squeal of a slaughtered pig, he bent, placing long fingers under Hermione's chin, lifting her face. "Such beauty," he said softly, "such innocence. Such a pity it is wasted on a filthy little Mudblood."

The hand suddenly let go of Hermione's chin, and he backhanded her harshly, sending her reeling. Snape closed his eyes momentarily, then forced them open again, focusing his sight on the trickle of blood from the girl's mouth. _Whatever is required._

"Snape! Come forward! Begin the merriment, for this is a feast in your honor."

Swallowing hard, Snape stepped forward, and the Dark Lord clutched Hermione's arm, hauling her roughly to her feet. "This one is a gift for you, for you alone to do with as you see fit." Voldemort hissed, shoving the girl forward.

Snape kept his eyes on Hermione's face, letting the tears she was crying draw his heart into a vice. _Hold onto the pain; it is what keeps you human._ "My Lord is generous," he murmured.

"Consider her a reward, for drawing them here. I had hoped to have members of that ridiculous Order, but this... this was beyond even my wildest expectations." Snape did not have to see the Dark Lord to know he was looking hungrily at Harry, ensnared by the prospect of seeing the boy's death at last.

"It is my pleasure to serve, my Lord," Severus murmured, his words ringing hollowly in his ears.

"Take her, then, for this is a feast in your honor. It is for you to set the pace for the rest. Do not kill the Potter boy, but beyond that..." The serpent-voiced fiend shoved Hermione forward, and Snape caught her, steadying her clandestinely.

There was a light in Hermione's eyes that Snape could only define as one thing-- trust. Despite all that had happened, she trusted him still, and expected him to set things right. It was heart-wrenching and heart breaking as he reached for her arm and looked at her. He didn't dare apologize, even silently, for what he was about to do. "Come here, you filthy little Mudblood whore," he hissed, and the look she shot him was pure venom, and, almost as though he'd planned it with her, she screeched and lifted a hand, swinging it at his face. Forcing a soft laugh, he caught her wrist and forced it behind her back. "Now, now," he murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear, "none of that. Perhaps you do need a lesson, and I suppose I could lower myself to give it to you." As he spoke, he pressed a tiny vial into her palm, and felt her fingers curl around it before he moved his hand to grasp roughly at her face, grimacing as her tender flesh crushed beneath his fingers. That would leave a bruise, he knew, but a bruise would heal. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her forcefully, then lifted his arms so that his cloak shielded them, moving his lips aside. "If you care for your life," he whispered, "and those of your friends, then do as I say. The vial in your hand is an antidote. Wait as long as you can, but you _must_ administer it before Venus rises above the stone that tops the farthest pillars. Venus is the brightest star, the brightest light in the sky. Three drops, Miss Granger. There is enough for three people." He lowered his hands and stepped back from her, then flung her to the ground, his eyes darting to her clenched hands to make sure that she still held the vial, then raised his voice. "Filthy though she may be, there might be use in her. I would encourage you all to save your appetites." There was a leer from the assembly, and Severus looked at the other children.

Snape walked in a slow circle around the remaining students. Ron's and Harry's utter hatred had increased exponentially, and Ginny was crying too now. He paused in front of Fred and George. "You two," he hissed, pointing at them, "Stand. I will enjoy exacting revenge for the havoc you have caused in the halls." He reached forward and grabbed George's arm roughly, pulling him towards him. "Do you have the map?" Severus whispered in his ear, and, wide-eyed, George nodded. "Hold onto it," Severus murmured, "and do not let anyone else see it. And keep your mouth open. You bite what I put in your mouth, is that clear? Bite _hard_ and then swallow." His hand snaked under his robe again, and he slammed a hand against George's face, depositing a small, spherical vial in the twin's mouth. George looked for a moment like he was going to be sick, but he bit down on the vial, as instructed, and Severus whispered, "I'm sorry," just before snaking a knife from beneath his robes and slicing across the red-head's jaw with it, leaving a gaping, bleeding wound. Steeling himself, Severus leaned forward and drew his tongue along that gash, then laughed an almost genuine maniacal laugh. He was losing his sanity in his effort to continue the charade, and it was only his sanity that would save them.

"Blood traitor!" he hissed, shoving him roughly aside. "You two share everything, don't you? Come here, Fred, and take your share of the fun." He reached for the other twin, and wrenched his head back, dropping a second sphere into his mouth with deft fingers. "Bite it," he hissed, then slashed at the boy's jaw. After a moment, Snape flung the two boys to the ground at the Dark Lord's feet, and knelt between them. "A gift, to the Dark Lord!"

Voldemort moved forward in an unsettling swirl of cloak and robes, then smiled. "Very good, Snape," he hissed, a whisper for Snape's ears alone. "But cease with the theatrics. There are four more tender sweetlings there for us to savor, but not until you have had the first sampling." He reached for Fred's hand and jerked him upward, then gestured to Snape for the knife. With a lump in his throat, he obliged.

"Behold," the Dark Lord raised his voice to be heard by all, "the fruit of _Albus Dumbledore's_ stupidity!" Raising the boy's hand into the air, Voldemort flourished the knife. "We all but drew him a _picture_ telling him where we would be, and when, and he so _obligingly_ left us a splendid _apéritif_ to begin our evening's festivities."

There was a murmur of laughter around the circle, and Fred was beginning to waver. _Don't you dare pass out yet,_ Snape thought wildly. _We aren't through with you!_

Gathering Fred's raised hand into the same hand as the knife, Voldemort removed his wand from his robes and conjured a goblet seemingly made from smoke, then replaced his wand and took the knife. "It is seldom we taste pure blood here," he whispered dangerously, "and a pity it has to be blood soiled by the corruption of a disgraceful family. I think, though, that we will manage." With a serpentine movement, the Dark Lord slashed at Fred's wrist, then placed his goblet under the rush of blood that erupted from the wound.

Voldemort raised his goblet. "I give these two as a gift to my loyal Death Eaters! Come, my children, and feast," he invited the rest of them, stepping aside so that everyone would be able to gather. As the others stepped forward, more goblets conjured, Severus counted the heads wildly, and looked at the two boys. They would never survive so many.

"Do not gorge yourselves," he sneered at them, putting all his scorn into the expression. "There are four more, and it would be... fitting if everyone could enjoy them all."

Voldemort laughed. "Of course, my son, that is solid advice. I have been concerned about you for some time; it is good to see you have returned to yourself. Go, now, and prepare the others."

Snape bowed as the Dark Lord offered the knife back to him, and he walked steadily to where the others were crouched. He reached down and hauled Ron to his feet. "You pitiful little fool," he crooned. "For every time you talked back to me," he said, his right hand under his cloak, trying desperately to break—but not shatter—the spherical vial like the other two, "for all the times you disrupted my class," he sighed inwardly with relief as he felt the container crack open. Careful not to spill any of its contents, he caught Ron under the chin and pressed the poison into his mouth with his thumb, then forced the youngest Weasley son's head back, leaving him little choice but to swallow. "For every time you forced me to suffer your presence," he held the boy's head firmly as he lifted his knife, not trusting him to not move suddenly and slice his own jugular on the sharp blade. In a swift motion, Snape had opened a wound on his jaw, as he had the others, and then leaned forward to touch his tongue to the acrid blood. "I think I will enjoy seeing how defiant you are at the hands of your enemies." Slowly, Severus circled him, like a vulture, and his lips curled into a sneer behind his mask. _Behind the mask. You're losing yourself, Severus, they cannot see you expressions. Do not give in._ "Nothing to say?" he asked, and to his detached horror, he knew that the words were not scripted to carry his lie. He was taunting his student. He was _enjoying_ the elation of being in control of the uncontrollable teenager for once. _But that doesn't mean you wish him to die._ "Where is that famed Gryffindor courage now, Mr. Weasley? What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Ron's eyes were beginning to glaze slightly, signaling that the poison was working. A glance over his shoulder told Snape that it was working on many levels; there was more than one Death Eater who seemed to be experiencing difficulty standing upright. "You are pathetic, Weasley," he muttered, and slashed the knife across Ron's wrist. "Go, join your brothers," he hissed, shoving Ron harshly towards the group.

One of the others caught him, and Snape looked at the moon. Venus was no longer visible under the stone atop the farthest pillars, which meant time was fading quickly. Someone was wavering wildly, and Snape cast a look at Ginny and Harry, then another long look at Hermione. _Just please do what I told you, Miss Granger,_ he begged silently, then reached behind Harry's back, loosening the ropes that held him. "Do not move, Mr. Potter," he whispered urgently. "Do not let on that you are free until the last possible minute. And free Miss Granger first. Don't ask questions, and don't doubt me."

With that final instruction, Snape slipped his hand under his robe once more and took out two final vials. One he pressed into his mouth and crushed, and then quickly swallowed the other one. He turned quickly from Harry, and saw three Death Eaters on their knees, unable to stand but trying desperately to do just that. Two more were already sprawled on the ground. More looked ill. There was a slow panic rising, but Snape was only vaguely aware of it before he suddenly lurched forward, barely even raising his hands to break his fall. 

hr

"You know, I think this is a scrub." Tonks stood from where she'd been crouched for the last three hours, stretching her arms above her brilliantly blue head. She rolled her head to one side, then the other, and then peered down at Bill, who was also straightening.

"I think you're right," he replied with a yawn, peering up at the clock towering above them. They'd been positioned in the heart of London, which was hardly the most likely of places for an attack, but was necessary to guard, and he couldn't imagine that they hadn't been given that assignment because they were the two youngest and least experienced. At least, aside from the six kids who were probably trading cards at Stonehenge. "I think we've been had."

Tonks scrubbed a hand over her face and clasped her hands behind her back, bending forward, stretching her arms behind her. "Think I'll pop off to Bath and see if Shacklebolt thinks its time to give it up too. I have a feeling we're going to need everyone on our side to convince Dumbledore."

Bill nodded and bent to pick up his jacket. "I'll go see if I can round up Mum and Dad. You want to get the others from the Ministry and I'll..."

He was interrupted by a sudden roar, followed by something tumbling to the ground between them, and both Bill and Tonks had to jump back to avoid being struck by a Firebolt with a small, red-haired girl clinging to it.

"Ginny Weasley!" Bill hissed in a fair imitation of Molly when she was angry with her offspring. "What the hell do you think you're doing riding a broom into the middle of..." he stopped short, staring at her. She was trembling, and her face was pale, streaked with filth and tears, and for a minute his heart stopped. "What's wrong?"

She flung herself against him, sobbing and he looked wide-eyed at Tonks, hoping the other woman would be able to translate some of the incoherent words that were being muffled against his chest. Tonks was as wide-eyed as he was, though, and she mouthed "Bath" just before Disapparating.

Bill pushed Ginny away from him. "Ginny!" he shook her gently, "What's wrong?"

"I think they're all dead!" she sobbed again. "Stonehenge... Harry..." she fell against his chest again, and a popping announced the arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and Bill shook his head.

"I don't know, but can you go to Stonehenge? Just check on the others? Come back if they're all right, otherwise I'm sending everyone else..."

"Right." Another pop and Shacklebolt was gone.

"Ginny, I need you to tell me what happened. Come on, now, deep breath." He took a deep breath with her, and she sobbed as she exhaled, which was almost enough to make him sob as well, out of fear and frustration. "Where are the others?" he asked urgently. Another pop, and this time it was Hestia Jones and Emaline Vance.

"Stonehenge," he told them, shaking Ginny again. "I don't know what's happened." The two witches exchanged glances and another pair of pops announced their departure, just as four more pops brought Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore, Moody and Lupin.

"What's going on?" McGonagall asked. "Tonks said to come here immediately. Ginny, is that you?"

"Bill?" Moody looked at Bill who was looking rather helplessly at Ginny, who had started sobbing uncontrollably again.

"I don't know what happened," he said for the third time, "Ginny just arrived, crying, and Tonks went to start gathering people. I think something happened at Stonehenge, but I don't know what, and Shacklebolt went first, and I told him to come right back if everything was all right and that was three minutes ago and..."

Dumbledore, McGonagall and Moody all disappeared, and Lupin stepped forward, taking Ginny by the shoulders. "Ginny!" he shook her gently. "You have to tell us what happened!"

She nodded tearfully and opened her mouth, but it was mostly sobs that came out. Sobs punctuated with names. Fred and George and Ron and Harry and Hermione and Snape and Voldemort... that was enough for Bill, and apparently for Lupin as well. "Send everyone on," he said, "except your mum. Have her stay here, with Ginny."

Bill nodded as Lupin Disapparated as well. Having mum there with Ginny was probably a good idea; it would contain the hysteria to somewhere out of the way. Three more pops, and three more wizards. "Stonehenge," Bill said simply, and Fletcher, Doge and Diggle were already Disapparating, wands at the ready.

Finally, the pops announced Tonks and his parents, and Bill barely waited for his mother to register that Ginny was there when Bill shoved Ginny forward. "Stay with Ginny, mum!" he said, then looked at Arthur. "Stonehenge. Something is dead wrong." The three of the Disapparated.

Apparating into the midst of Stonehenge was like stepping into a nightmare. Bill had his wand drawn, but nothing could have prepared him for the blood that already soaked the ground, and he felt his stomach lurch.

"Arthur! Over here, quickly!" Bill spun in the direction of Moody's voice, and he felt himself turn green at what he saw. Ron, Fred and George lay limply in the midst of a pile of black cloaked figures, blood dried over their faces and arms. Hermione was speaking animatedly with Dumbledore, pointing one place, then another. Lupin had his arm around Harry, and was guiding him away from the scene, which, by all appearances, had indeed been a massacre.

His stomach lurched again, but it was enough to startle him from his stupor and he darted forward, joining his father at the boys' sides. "What happened?" he demanded. "Are they...?"

"They are not dead," Dumbledore said softly, appearing very suddenly. "Merely weak from loss of blood and the effects of an unknown potion. Miss Granger, it seems, had an antidote for them."

"Wha—?"

"Professor Snape! Where is he?"

"Miss Granger! Go over there with Harry and sit down. You've done enough for one night. Go!" McGonagall had arrived and, despite being disheveled and smeared with blood, she looked as severe as she ever did in a classroom, and her tone brooked no argument.

"What happened?" Bill repeated, urgently, touching Ron's forehead and grimacing. He was cold and clammy.

"We need to get the children out of here so we can call in the Aurors. The rest of these Dark Wizards are going to be in Ministry holding cells by midnight if I have any say in it," Shacklebolt was walking briskly forward. "They're all unconscious, but still alive, though I don't know for how long. That bottle Miss Granger had, Dumbledore, we'll need to analyze the contents. Live Death Eaters are more useful to us than dead ones, so hopefully we can..."

"WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED?" Bill yelled, interrupting the Auror.

"Hush, Bill."

That was the last straw. McGonagall no doubt meant well, placing that calming hand on his shoulder, but he didn't want to hush and he didn't want to be calmed and he didn't want to be told to go sit aside and babysit. He stood, taking his wand from his pocket and pointing it at her. "I want to know what the hell is going on," he said in a low, dangerous voice.

"Put away your wand, Bill. Professor McGonagall is on your side." It was Dumbledore who was speaking. "Put it away, and I will tell you everything."

"Bill," came a soft, pained voice beside him, and Bill half-turned, facing the pained eyes of his father. "Please, it's already bad enough. The last thing I want to do now is explain to your mum that you're in a cell for threatening Professor McGonagall."

He knew his father was right, and slowly lowered the wand, putting it back in his pocket.

"It would appear that the meeting tonight was here, and we walked into a trap. No, worse than that, we placed the children in the middle of a trap," Dumbledore said softly. "And, from what I can piece together from Miss Granger and Mr. Potter, I would say that Professor Snape poisoned your brothers so that when the Death Eaters drank their blood, it would stun them..."

"THAT FUCKING BASTARD! I'LL KILL HIM!"

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, sounding tired suddenly. "He's already dead."

Bill stopped suddenly and looked at her, his eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"

"Apparently, Severus left a bottle of antidote with Miss Granger," Dumbledore explained, "and loosened the ropes that were binding Mr. Potter. He bought them time, I suppose. Miss Granger sent Ginny to find you, because you were the only one she knew how to tell her to get to."

"Fred and George and Ron..."

"Will be fine," Dumbledore said firmly. "They have lost a great deal of blood, and are weak from the potions, but they will be fine."

The blood, the night, the news of what had happened... Bill finally fell to the ground and emptied his stomach on the grass until he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Bill, think you can help us get the kids back to Headquarters?"

He looked up into Tonks' eyes, an unnatural shade of violet, but filled with sympathy just the same. He nodded silently, and she handed him a broom. "Think you can manage Ron? I don't think I can, and I'm not sure Lupin can. Yes?" He was nodding at her suggestion. "Okay then, I'll take Fred and Lupin can take George, and Harry and Hermione can follow. Arthur, will you get Molly and Ginny? They'll want to know what's happened."

Arthur nodded mutely, and his eyes were shining behind a sheen of tears. Bill couldn't remember ever seeing his dad cry, and reached for his hand. Arthur squeezed his hand gently. "I'll see you at Headquarters," he said. "I'll probably ride back with Ginny and let your mum Apparate so she can get a head start on the worrying."

Bill smiled weakly. "I'll see you in a little bit," he assured his dad, then gathered Ron into his arms and held his youngest brother against his chest as he began to mount the broom. Arthur Disapparated with a pop, and Bill watched as Tonks and Hermione mounted one broom with Fred sandwiched between them, then Lupin and Harry the other, George between them. It would be slow travelling with everyone two and three to a broom, but there was no other way to get everyone back to Headquarters. Besides, he doubted that either Harry or Hermione needed to be flying, as distraught as they seemed to be.

"It's going to be a slow journey," Lupin said, stating the obvious. "But take your time and..."

"None of that will be necessary," Albus said softly. "Minerva, bring Severus over here. Harry, Hermione, I assume you are familiar with the use of a portkey? Bill, Tonks, Lupin, will you three please see to it that the boys are brought along?" Everyone gathered around the portkey—a battered-looking hat that was redolent of the ones the young witches and wizards wore—and settled themselves. Tonks held Fred in her arms, holding his hand on the portkey, Lupin similarly engaged with George, and Bill holding Ron. Albus cradled Severus in his arms as tenderly as though the Death Eater was a child, and for a moment, Bill felt a pang of sympathy for the headmaster who had always seemed overly fond of Snape.

The world lurched and after a moment, the ten of them emerged in the an empty upstairs bedroom at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.


	38. The Order Loses its Spy

For maybe the fifteenth time, Autumn pushed aside the curtain to peer onto the street, though she knew that it was a useless endeavor. It was a nervous habit as much as anything else, to watch the front entry, even though she knew logically that when they returned it would most likely be with the popping of air and then simply appearing, not walking through the front door. Still, she couldn't merely sit and read a book while she waited, so she alternated between staring out the window and willing some of the glare from the streetlights to gather into the forms of her newfound friends, and pacing back and forth between the kitchen and drawing room.

Willow lay sleeping by the fire in the drawing room, and Autumn paused for a moment, staring at the way her face scrunched and grimaced. Mr. Dumbledore had left a bottle of what he called 'Dreamless Sleep', and told them both to take it if the worrying grew too much. Said that the liquid would lull them into a peaceful sleep. Willow did not look peaceful. Willow looked almost as terrified now as she had before Autumn had insisted that the red-haired woman drink it.

The Order of the Phoenix. In all their demonstrations of making things fly and dance and appear from nowhere, both Severus and Remus had neglected to mention that this creepy old house was the headquarters for a group called the Order of the Phoenix, and that they battled a group of evil witches and wizards called Death Eaters. They hadn't seen _fit_ to mention that tonight, there was a battle planned, and that all of the members of the Order of the Phoenix would be disappearing, leaving Autumn and Willow alone to bite their fingernails and speculate as to what happened in a battle that involved magic.

And then, Willow had seen something. She'd seen the different members, in different places, places she could identify. She couldn't explain how she knew they were there, only that she saw them there. She'd argued when Mr. Dumbledore said he trusted her abilities. God, how Willow had argued. _I can't tell you what it means, though!_ she'd screamed. _Just because I see you there doesn't mean you should **be** there!_ Mr. Dumbledore, though, seemed to be the leader of this Order of the Phoenix, and he'd decided to trust Willow's vision. After all, he had reasoned as Willow grew increasingly hysterical, they would have to base their decision of where to put people on something, and the best they had were random placements. Bath and London and Liverpool and Glasgow were as good as any stations. Better than some.

And then they'd left. Just like that. A cacophony of popping, like the popping of popcorn, and they were gone. Autumn had brewed tea. It wasn't five minutes before Willow dropped her teacup suddenly, her hands shaking, her face white as ivory. "No…" she'd whispered.

"No what?"

But there was only 'no', in increasingly hysterical tones, and Willow had become a fury, ripping through the house as though looking for something, not seeming to know what she was looking for, Autumn following on her heels demanding to know what was wrong. But there had been only 'no', howled and wailed, then screamed, then whispered, then sobbed. Willow had clutched at curtains, she'd pounded her head against a wall. She'd opened the door, and Autumn was convinced that she would have run out had she not stopped her. And finally, Autumn had forced Willow to drink the medicine that Mr. Dumbledore had left them.

And now, the house was silent. Silent as a tomb.

"No…" Willow was whimpering now, and Autumn looked around, helpless to offer any comfort to her friend, terrified of what Willow could see but not speak.

"Shhh…" Autumn said softly, smoothing the hair from Willow's face, not sure if her friend could hear her or not. "Everything will be fine…" She wished she didn't sound like she was trying to convince herself. She wished she _believed_ it, with all her heart, that everything really _would_ be fine.

There was a sudden _pop!_ in the kitchen, and Autumn hurled herself in that direction, running out of the drawing room and down the corridor, coming to a skidding halt in the kitchen door. It was Mr. Moody.

"Are you all right, girl?" he asked in his grizzled voice. She nodded, wide-eyed, unable to rip her eyes away from him. There was blood on his face. "Where's Willow?"

"I-I gave her some of the Dreamless Sleep," Autumn whispered. Mr. Moody terrified her. "She was hysterical."

"For how long?"

"About five minutes after you all left." Autumn backed away until she felt the wall at her back, her eyes still wide and locked on Mr. Moody. "Where is everyone else?" she whispered, fear beginning to boil in the pit of her stomach. "Where is Mr. Dumbledore and Ms. McGonagall and… and Severus… and Harry and Hermione and…" She trailed off as Moody was advancing on her, his uneven gait clumping like the knocking of the Grim Reaper on the door.

"I think you need to sit down, girl," he said in a surprisingly soft tone. Soft, but still grizzled.

"What happened?" Autumn whispered. "Where is everyone? What happened? What went wrong?"

"You're certain something went wrong," Moody asked, reaching for her hand. His gnarled fingers closed around her wrist and drew her closer to him. "Why?"

"Willow's never wrong," Autumn whispered. "And she's never hysterical. Nothing worries her. But tonight…"

"She was wrong tonight," Moody replied gruffly. "She was wrong about where we should be."

"No," Autumn shook her head firmly, her heart pounding, a buzz beginning in her ears. "No. She didn't say that was where you _should_ be, she said that was where you _would_ be. There's a difference," Autumn protested. "There's a difference, and she tried to tell you and… what happened? Where is everyone? Where's Severus?" He voice was taking on a note of panic, and even the ugly, scarred face of Mr. Moody seemed to soften.

"I think you need some of that potion too. Is there any left?"

"Where is Severus?" she repeated, trying to pull her hand away from him. "Where is he? Where is everyone? What happened? Dammit, what _happened?_"

The more she struggled, the more tightly he gripped her hand, apparently set on not letting her go anywhere. "Calm down, girl. Getting worked up won't change anything. Come on, sit down." He was pulling her to the table, forcing her into a chair, and she breathed harder, her throat tightening with fear.

"Where…?"

"It was a trap," Moody said softly, crouching at her knees. "It was wrong from the start. The Death Eaters were at Stonehenge."

"The children!" Autumn was crying now, not even trying to check the tears as they flowed down her cheeks. "Are the children…?"

"They're alive," Moody said gruffly, and that frightened her more than anything could have. They're alive? They were injured then. Is someone not alive? "They…" He was interrupted by another popping, and Mrs. Weasley appeared, looking horrified and worried.

"Is anyone else here yet?" she asked, looking at Mr. Moody. He shook his head.

"No. Just the girls and me and now you."

Mrs. Weasley nodded and bustled quickly to the stove, pulling a pot on top of it and filling it with water, then set it to heating. "I'll be upstairs," she called as she moved quickly from the kitchen. "I'll put all three boys in the…" whatever else she was saying was interrupted by another series of pops. Autumn couldn't remember all these people's names. She couldn't remember any of their names.

"Where is Severus?" she repeated to Moody. "And Remus? And Mr. Dumbledore and…"

There was suddenly a shuffling sound upstairs, and she heard muffled voices, and then a clear voice that she recognized as belonging to Mr. Dumbledore. "The boys need to come down here. Molly has a room ready for them. Minerva, put Severus in his room. Remus, Bill looks like he could use a stiff drink."

Autumn needed no more. She was up and flying from the kitchen, careening up the stairs to the third floor, wheeling past Mr. Dumbledore and Tonks and Bill and Remus. Remus tried to catch her hand, but Autumn had learned to duck her way through a crowd long ago—it was one place where her petite stature helped immensely.

"Autumn, no!"

She ignored Remus' shout and came to a skidding halt at the door of Severus' bedroom. He was lying on the bed, fully clothed, his face smeared with blood. Ms. McGonagall was pale-looking as she smoothed his hair from his face, and her lips were moving, as though she were whispering something to him.

"Severus!" Autumn cried softly and lurched forward, taking his hand in hers. His hand was cold, his fingers stiff. "No…" she whispered, suddenly reaching for his throat. She pressed her fingers against the vein in his throat, and felt frantically for a pulse. "NO!" she screamed.

"Autumn?" Remus' voice sounded distant, as though they were separated by an ocean. She was only vaguely aware of him pulling her into his arms, turning her head away from Severus. Away from Severus' body. "Shhh," he whispered, holding her tightly. "He wouldn't want you to cry."

* * *

"Minerva, put Severus in his room," Dumbledore ordered, and Minerva nodded, trying to swallow the lump that kept rising in her throat.

"You two," she pointed her wand at Harry and Hermione, "go downstairs with Professor Lupin and stay out of the way while we get everyone settled. I am certain that Professor Dumbledore will want to speak with you both. Go on, now." When the two of them were heading downstairs, she breathed a slight sigh, then turned her wand to Severus, who was lying crumpled against a wall.

"Come on then," she murmured to him, though she knew it was no use. He couldn't hear her. Still, she made a point to be gentle and careful as she elevated his body and murmured "_Mobilicorpus," _directing him along the corridor and into the room that had been his while he was staying here last week. She lifted him onto the bed, and then pocketed her wand, gently arranging his hands on his stomach, his head on the pillow. She removed his mask, and dropped it into the drawer of the bedside table, then removed his shoes, placing them under the bed, as though he might need to find them quickly, then bent over him again. His hands were so cold, his fingers already growing stiff, but there was still a faint hint of life lingering to his face. She touched his face softly, smoothing the limp black hair away from his gaunt features.

"Another fine victory for Slytherin," she whispered against his temple, and closed her eyes. He'd been such a fragile child, and she'd never been able to decide how much mothering he needed. Perhaps, if she'd given him a bit more, he would have made different decisions. Perhaps he would not be lying here now. Or perhaps there were some things that were written as destiny, and this was one of them. Besides, if she were quite rational about it, how many lives had been saved because of the path he had chosen?

"Autumn, no!"

Her head jerked up, and she saw Autumn in the doorway, her eyes wide, and the young woman suddenly lurched forward, clasping Severus' hand in hers. "Severus!" she cried, then a stricken look crept across her cherubic features. "No…" she whispered, and frantically felt at Severus' throat. "NO!" it was a scream this time, and the pain in that cry wrenched free the tears that Minerva had been holding back. Autumn collapsed at Severus' side, clutching at him, and a moment later, Remus appeared, his hands grasping firmly at the young woman's shoulders, pulling her away and sheltering her in his arms.

Beyond him, other figures were appearing in the doorway. It was Albus, though, who held Minerva's attention, and she pushed herself away from Severus' side, slipping towards the door. She paused as she reached Remus, and whispered, "Take Autumn downstairs." Remus nodded, and Minerva slipped out of the door, placing herself in Albus' arms. He tightened his arms around her in a firm embrace, and she looped hers around his waist.

"What have I done?" he whispered against her hair, and Minerva's arms tightened around him.

"This is not your fault, Albus," she whispered. "It is _not_." She hugged him tightly again, and pulled away, taking a steadying breath before looking at the small crowd gathering at the door. "Downstairs," she commanded, more briskly than necessary. "All of you. Go on." When everyone had stepped away from the door, Minerva cast one last glance at her one-time student and long-time colleague, then shut the door firmly. He had never wanted an audience for anything in his life, and she doubted he would appreciate all of them milling about his bed now.

Albus touched her elbow, and she looked up at him. "I need to go speak with Harry and Hermione," he said softly, and Minerva nodded.

"I'm just going to peek in at Fred, George and Ronald, see if Molly needs any help."

Albus nodded that time, and then slipped quietly downstairs. The entire house was quiet, in fact, though Minerva knew that there were more than twenty people in it at the moment. It was as though everyone knew what had happened, and no one knew what to say about it.

When she reached the second floor, Minerva turned to the room where she could hear Molly's voice, and knocked softly on the door. She was not surprised when there was no answer; Molly was preoccupied, she knew. Pushing the door open slightly, Minerva peered inside, then stepped in fully. "Molly?"

Molly was bent over the form of her youngest son, removing shoes from his feet. A glance at the other two told Minerva that Fred and George were both still in possession of their shoes. "Molly?" Minerva repeated, louder this time, and the Weasley matriarch turned around, her eyes bright behind a veil of unshed tears. "May I help you with the boys?" Minerva asked softly, and Molly hesitated for a moment. Minerva could almost see the inner argument. On the one hand, the mother wanted to be the one to care for her children, and she wanted to protest needing help to do it. On the other hand, the sensible woman knew that her children would become comfortable more quickly with a second set of hands. Finally, Molly nodded, and Minerva moved to Fred's bedside.

She tugged off his shoes and dropped them on the floor under the bed, then lifted him to a sitting position so she could ease the shirt over his head. Across the room, Molly had stripped Ron to his shorts and was washing his face and hands, so Minerva followed her lead, and then drew the sheet and blanket firmly around Fred's shoulders. They tended George together, in silence.

"They're going to be all right," Molly said as George's blanket was settled, and she cupped his cheek in her hand, looking at him with a look of concern that only a mother could manage. Her voice was far from confident, though, and Minerva reached across the bed, placing her hand on Molly's shoulder.

"They'll be fine, Molly," she said firmly. "All three of them have had worse from Quidditch practices."

Molly nodded, but there were tears on her cheeks now. "Severus was right," she whispered. "They're too young. I should have never allowed…"

Minerva stood and moved to Molly's side. "All children grow up, Molly," she said softly. "Even yours. They have yours and Arthur's spirit, and they won't give in easily, so don't give them less credit than they deserve."

"But why Fred and George and Ron?" Molly asked softly, and there were tears in her eyes again as she looked away from Minerva. "I know it sounds horrible, but why _my_ children? Why not Harry or Hermione?"

It did sound horrible. Minerva, however, understood what Molly meant, and there was no graceful way to ask such a question. "We may never know," Minerva replied. "But I'm certain that Severus had his reasons."

Molly nodded. "I wish I could hate him," she whispered. "Using my boys as pawns in… in whatever game he was playing. But I can't, because he… he gave Hermione the means to save them, too. It's as though I wish he were still alive so I could kill him myself, and I wish I could fall at his feet and thank him and hug him and…"

"Shh…" Minerva placed her arms around Molly. "He was always a complex man, Molly. It was rather like that game of chess—he saw everything five and six moves beyond the present. Unfortunate that he would never explain what he was doing to the rest of us, but I am confident, Molly, that he had his reasons."

There was a knock on the door, and Molly quickly dried her eyes. Minerva slipped away from the worrying mother to open the door, and lifted an eyebrow as she saw Bill standing there. "Are they…?"

"They're _fine,_ Bill," Minerva said firmly. "They are just sleeping."

He nodded, and then peered past Minerva's shoulder. "And mum…?"

"She'll be fine once the shock wears off. Just leave her be."

He nodded again. "Dumbledore is calling the Order together," he said softly. "Do you think Mum…?"

"Molly, I'm going downstairs. You stay here, though. I'll send up if you're needed, and we'll fill you in on details later."

Molly nodded gratefully, and Minerva ushered Bill downstairs.

* * *

"What are we going to tell Dumbledore?" Hermione asked in a hushed voice as she and Harry settled themselves onto the sofa in the lounge. They'd been following Professor Lupin downstairs, but he had suddenly bolted back upstairs to catch Autumn, and they'd continued to the first floor. It was the first time Hermione had spoken to Harry since they'd offered their initial broken explanations back on the hilltop at Stonehenge.

"The truth?" Harry suggested. "Why would we lie?"

"I don't mean to _lie_, Harry, but how much should we tell?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, that he… what he did to me? Do you think I have to tell them that?" Hermione rubbed her arm subconsciously, and Harry eyed her thoughtfully.

"No," he said finally. "I don't think we have to tell that." Harry looked up, as though he could see through the ceiling. "How about the part about him drinking the blood?"

"I'm not even sure he really did," Hermione said softly. "I was trying to watch, but I couldn't tell. I don't think he did, though."

"Of course he did!" Harry replied, looking at Hermione as though she were nutter. "That's how he died!"

Hermione frowned. "But no one else died," she whispered. "Didn't you hear Shacklebolt? All the Death Eaters were still alive, and they wanted to keep them alive. Why would Professor Snape die if they didn't?"

A line deepened between Harry's eyes. "I hadn't thought of that," he said softly. "I… but what killed him, then?"

"I don't know," Hermione replied, staring at her hands. "I just don't know." Irritatingly, there were tears in her eyes, and her vision was blurring.

"Are you crying?" Harry asked as a tear splashed onto Hermione's hand. "Why?"

Scowling, Hermione glared at Harry. "Because he died! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means we'll have a new Potions Teacher," Harry replied, and Hermione just glared at him.

"Don't you have any conscience at all?" she asked. "He died protecting us, and you still hate him?"

"He poisoned Ron and Fred and George, and cut their throats!" Harry replied indignantly. "How can you forgive him for that?"

"If he hadn't poisoned the Death Eaters like that, do you think any of us would be alive? And how about the way he fought You-Know-Who?"

Harry stood suddenly and stalked across the room, staring at the wall. "Just shut up, Hermione!" he hissed. "I'd rather hate him."

"Fine!" she retorted, folding her arms across her breasts. "Then be a prat."

For a long moment, Harry stared at the wall, then suddenly punched it, hard enough to rattle the entire room. "Surely the wall didn't do anything to deserve that, Harry," came a voice from the door, and Hermione looked up, wide-eyed at Dumbledore. The Headmaster moved into the room with a calm that seemed out of place, given everything that had happened. "Come, sit with Hermione. I need you both to tell me what happened." He pointed his wand at the wall and murmured, "_Reparo_," and the wall knit itself back together.

A moment later, Professor Dumbledore was sitting in the chair beside the sofa, looking at Harry and Hermione. After a long pause, he lifted an eyebrow. "Well?" he prompted, "what precisely happened?"

Avoiding looking at Harry, Hermione spoke up first. "Almost as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley left us at Stonehenge, black-cloaked men started appearing from behind the stones," she said softly. "There were four of them. We tried to fight, but…"

"No one could expect six students to take on four Death Eaters," Professor Dumbledore assured her.

"Fred hid the map. It's probably still there, actually, by one of the stones. And that was about all we had time for before they tied us up. And then, a few minutes later, they began Apparating from all around. They were all wearing masks and cloaks, so it was hard to tell who anyone was."

"How many?"

"Fifteen," Hermione replied, just as Harry answered, "I didn't count."

Dumbledore nodded. "Continue."

"Then You-Know-Who told Professor Snape to…" Hermione paused for a moment, once again avoiding Harry's eyes. "To begin the… slaughter." She finished in a tiny voice. "And he started with me. He slipped a bottle in my hand and told me it was an antidote and instructions on how to use it, and then he loosened the ropes around my wrists and… I don't know how he… poisoned… Ron and Fred and George. I really don't." Her eyes were wide as she looked at Professor Dumbledore, but he merely nodded.

"It's all right, Miss Granger. Go on."

She took a deep breath, thinking quickly about what precisely she was going to tell him next. She decided to leave out a great deal. "And then they… the Death Eaters… they were drinking…" It was harder to say it than she'd thought it would be, and once more Dumbledore nodded.

"I know what the Death Eaters do, Miss Granger. Continue."

She nodded gratefully. "They started to collapse. And then You-Know-Who got really angry and…" She shut her eyes and shook her head. "I can't," she whispered, dropping her face to her lap. "I'm sorry."

There was a pause, then arms around her shoulders, but Hermione didn't think she could look up just then. After a minute, Harry picked up the story.

"Voldemort was going to kill us," Harry said quietly. "He was going to kill Ginny first, and he had his wand pointed at her. And Snape… he was swaying, but he came up behind Voldemort and… and hit him. And they fought…"

Hermione murmured, her voice muffled as she still had her head in his lap. "The Cruciatus Curse. At least four times. You-Know-Who wouldn't just kill him, he was going to make him _suffer_."

"Voldemort was really angry with Snape," Harry explained unnecessarily. "And… and while they were fighting, Hermione untied Ginny and told Ginny how to get to London… got her hands loose, and then she gave Ron and George and Fred the antidote… and then she came back to sit by me, and she had a wand from one of the Death Eaters… " Harry was leaving out a _lot_ of details, Hermione realized. "And then she untied my hands, and… and we were going to try and… I don't know what we were going to do, actually," Harry whispered. "But we were going to get out of there. But Voldemort saw that we were free and… and he was going to kill us then I think… well, I'm pretty sure. But Snape cast Crucio, and… and when Voldemort recovered, he… he…and then he and then Snape fell… and then Kingsley came… and… and they fought… and Voldemort got away and… and then you came… and…"

Hermione suddenly sat up and looked at Dumbledore beseechingly. "Professor Snape took three Cruciatus curses, sir," she whispered. "Is that why he…?"

Professor Dumbledore was quiet, and after a moment, he shook his head. "I doubt it, Miss Granger. Professor Snape has more Cruciatus Curses many times. I know this has been difficult for the both of you," he said softly, "but I must ask one more question. Did Professor Snape say anything to either of you to indicate what he had planned?"

Hermione shook her head, her eyes round as saucers. "No, Professor," she said softly.

Harry was shaking his head too.

Dumbledore nodded. "I didn't expect he would," he said quietly. "But I had hoped. Both of you, stay here. You've had enough excitement for one evening."

"Sir?" Harry asked as Dumbledore rose.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Ron and Fred and George…?"

"They're fine, Mr. Potter. They are resting. I'd tell you that you could see them, except that I think Mrs. Weasley needs time alone with them just now. I will see to it that you can visit them before we go back to Hogwarts, though."

Harry nodded, and Hermione slipped her hand into his, squeezing gently.

* * *

"Come on, Autumn," Remus whispered, though he didn't really give her a choice in the matter. Placing his hands firmly on her shoulders, he guided her away from the room where Severus' body was laid out on the bed, and was halfway down the hall with her when he heard the door close. "I think it's time for you to get some rest."

She shook her head, and tried to pull away from him, but it was almost like stopping a child. Between her petite physique and the hysteria that was weakening her overall, there was little to prevent him from dictating her movements.

"Yes," he murmured insistently. "I have a bottle of Dreamless Sleep with your name on it," he told her, steering her into her bedroom on the second floor. "It's been a long night, and you've had enough of it. I'm locking this door, Autumn, and when I come back, you'd best be ready for bed, because you're taking this potion and going to sleep. So if you want to change…" he let the half-hearted threat hang in mid-air and shut the door firmly, locking it with his wand. It pricked at his conscience to do that, but he couldn't trust her not to try and leave, and he didn't think he had the strength to chase her all over the house.

He slipped down the corridor to his own room, and opened his wardrobe, reaching to the back for the bottle of purple potion that would lull her to sleep. As his fingers curled around the bottle, Remus closed his eyes, suddenly latching onto the different facets of Severus' death. For one thing, there would be no one to brew the Wolfsbane potion for him anymore. It seemed almost disrespectful to be thinking of such a thing, but the full moon was only two weeks away. Two weeks was not long to find a safe place to lock himself away where he would not be a danger to others.

Surprisingly, though, that didn't seem to matter to him as much as it mattered that he'd lost one more friend to Voldemort. And Remus did consider Severus a friend, whether or not the sentiment had ever been returned. He hoped it had been. He _thought_ it had been in the last couple of weeks, but it was so difficult to say. Severus was quiet, and his very nature was one of mystery. He never let anyone get too close to him. All the times in the last two weeks that he'd hissed '_don't touch me,´_ when Remus had placed a hand on his shoulder… Remus wished now that he'd ignored the request a few times more. He hoped that Severus realized how much he'd been cared for, by so many people.

Opening his eyes again, Remus decided that Autumn had had long enough to ready herself for bed if she was going to, and he walked slowly back to her room, offering a cursory knock and waiting a moment before pointing his wand at the door and opening it with a spell. As he'd expected, Autumn was sitting on the edge of the bed, still fully clothed, staring blankly at the wall, tears falling down her cheeks.

"Come on," Remus murmured, kneeling beside her and sliding her shoes off her feet. "Into bed. There we go," he whispered soothingly as he guided her feet onto the mattress and gently pushed her against the pillow. "Now, drink this for me," he said softly, holding the violet vial to her lips. He tilted the contents down her throat, and she swallowed, almost too obediently, and he placed the empty bottle aside, easing her onto the bed again.

Her head touched the pillow, and a powerful sob suddenly erupted from her. "Shhh…." He whispered, lying beside her, pulling her into his arms. "It won't bring him back."

"Why did he have to die?" she whispered against his chest. "Why?"

Remus rocked her gently. "He died so that others could live," he replied softly. "Remember that, Autumn, Severus gave his life heroically to save the lives of others. I know it doesn't help much now, but remember it."

Her sobs were beginning to subside, but Remus was not delusional enough to believe it had anything to do with his soothing words; the Dreamless Sleep potion worked almost instantly. It would provide her enough strength to make it through the next day, with luck; he knew that she was going to need all the strength she could find.

When her breathing had assumed a steady rhythm, Remus eased himself away from her and extinguished the lights in the room, then slipped out. He left the door slightly ajar in case she woke in the night and needed anything, though he hoped she would sleep through the night. That would be the best thing for her. He made his way downstairs slowly, and entered the kitchen to find a solemn-faced gathering around the table.

No one spoke, but Tonks, at least, lifted her head in acknowledgement of his presence. With a sigh, Remus moved over to the stove and made himself a cup of tea before joining the others at the table. They all sat there, in utter silence, for several long minutes. After an eternity, the front door opened, and Bill turned towards it.

"That'll be Dad and Ginny," he said unnecessarily, standing.

Remus nodded. "Where are Harry and Hermione?"

"Dumbledore's talking to them in the lounge," Tonks replied.

Nodding again, Remus moved to the door, glancing into the hall. Arthur was guiding a stumbling Ginny, half holding her up, and down the hall, the door to the lounge opened. As Dumbledore emerged, Remus ducked back into the kitchen. "Tonks, can you manage tea for three? With something in it to calm them? Brandy, perhaps?"

Tonks nodded and pushed herself away from the table, and Remus stepped into the hall again, moving towards Arthur and Ginny. "Come on, Ginny," he said soothingly, reaching for the youngest Weasley. "Let's get you into the lounge with Harry and Hermione." Arthur looked grateful, and stepped aside to speak with Dumbledore as Remus guided the young witch into the lounge. Harry and Hermione were sitting on the sofa, curled up together, hand in hand, and for a brief moment, Remus wondered if he was interrupting anything. Perhaps the addition of a third person would not be welcome.

Any doubts he might have had, though, were eased as Hermione unfolded herself from the sofa and rushed to Ginny. The two of them fell together in a fierce hug, and after a moment, Harry joined them. Tonks appeared with a tray of tea, and Remus slipped out of the room quietly, leaving them to find comfort from each other.

"We need to meet, I think," Dumbledore was saying as Remus slipped into the hall again. Arthur was nodding, and Bill, who had apparently joined them while Remus was in with the children, took a step towards the stairs.

"I'll go get Mum and Professor McGonagall," he offered, and was heading towards the second floor before anyone could respond to him.

A few minutes later, they were all in the kitchen, slumped around the table, each of them coping with the night's events with varying degrees of success. No one, it seemed, was in the mood for excessive chatter, and when Dumbledore called the meeting to order, there was not chatter for once to stop.

"The Order has lost its spy," the Headmaster began without preamble, "As much as we mourn the loss, we cannot afford a long period of grief. Aside from being a friend, Severus played an important role in the Order, and we will need to find a way to continue to function without the information he has been passing to us."

This was met with a long moment of silence before Moody cleared his throat. "What are the chances we can establish another informant?"

"Not good, I fear," Dumbledore replied. "There is not another among the Death Eaters whom I would trust…" His words were interrupted by a sudden crashing and a scream outside the door, and chairs scraped against the floor as the meeting abruptly adjourned and the members came flooding out of the kitchen, most of them with their wands at the ready.


	39. The Return

Darkness.

It was very dark, completely black. There was no light, no sight, no sound, nothing. But the nothing was _something_, and he held onto it, because even if it was nothing, he was _aware_ of it. He'd no feeling, nothing but a detached awareness that he existed, though where he existed he couldn't have said. This might have been death for all he knew, though he hoped it wasn't. He'd always hoped that death would be peaceful, that there would be no more thoughts and no more concerns and no awareness—hat he would simply cease to be. He hadn't ceased to be yet, though, and he could only hope that meant he wasn't dead.

The awareness waxed and waned, and he floated somewhere just below consciousness. He knew he was being moved, lifted, his body manipulated one way and another, though there was no rhyme or reason to the movements. There was no sense of time nor of space nor of direction here, but he was beginning to feel again. He could feel something hard, uncomfortable, under him, then weightlessness, then softness. It was as though his senses had been reduced to those of an infant—he could not identify the changes, except in terms of what he liked and did not like. There was a tugging, and he could have done without that, but then there was a caress, and he wished it could have lingered forever. And then there was a pressure, and a noise… A piercing, horrible noise that made him want to recoil, but he hadn't the ability to so much as blink, let alone cringe away from the horrible noise. It was soon gone, though, and then there was only darkness and silence once more.

Thought.

Something was supposed to be happening. He couldn't remember what it was, but it was supposed to happen, and he'd planned it carefully, so there was a good reason to believe it would happen. Eventually. Now? He thought about that, but there were no conclusions to be reached, and it hardly seemed to matter anyway. What was now, but an abstract concept? When it happened—whatever it was and regardless of when it was supposed to happen—it would be now, because now was all that existed. There were other words for time, of course, and his mind was slowly beginning to discover those words again, but they were odd ideas, this business of past and future. Now was all that really meant anything to him.

Something had happened in the past—distant or near he could not distinguish, it was as though his memory was two-dimensional just now, and that was an odd thought. He accepted it, though, because it was there, this two-dimensional memory that was odd even though he couldn't remember what it was supposed to be like. He couldn't remember much of anything, but there was a thought in his head, one thought, that kept circling, like the moon on its path around the earth. Something was going to happen, it would happen, it was happening. It had already happened? Well, he would worry about it when it came to be, and until then, not think about it. But he thought about the fact that he was thinking, because that meant something too. He couldn't remember what, but it would come to him, and he was in no particular hurry.

Pain.

The first memory, if it could be called a memory, was that the searing heat that coursed through his veins like liquid lightning was painful. He wanted to cry out, to double up, to whimper, to moan… to do anything, something… He wanted to react because there was pain ripping through his body, threatening to rip his body apart, and he could do nothing about it. He could not stop it, and no one else could stop it. No one else was there. The pain forced all thought and consciousness from his mind, and finally, admitting defeat, he sank back into the ether from which he had been steadily emerging.

Sinking away from the pain, yes, but also from thought. And from awareness. Even from the darkness, because there could be no darkness without awareness (was that a thought? Maybe he hadn't sunk so far away as he'd thought.)

Again, he was floating, enshrouded by darkness and awareness, vaguely aware of the thoughts that kept him lingering where he was. The pain was a barrier to him, and one which he thought he was supposed to break through, but wasn't sure he wanted to. He thought he was supposed to reach past it, that there was supposed to be something beyond it that would make the journey past it worth bearing, but he couldn't remember what it was. He knew he was supposed to try, to force his way through it, that it was like him to ignore such trifles as pain, but he couldn't remember why. And not knowing why, he didn't see the point. After all, even if there was nothing except darkness and awareness and thought where he was, he couldn't remember what lay beyond the pain, and he knew that the pain was uncomfortable. Far less comfortable than where he was. Would it really be so bad if he simply stayed here?

Memory.

Yes. It would be very bad indeed if he stayed where he was. There was something beyond that wall of pain, and even if he couldn't remember what it was, he remembered that it was there, and suddenly he could not be content with where he was anymore. Maybe it was increased awareness. He wondered how long he had been like this. He wondered how long he could remain like this. He wondered why it mattered, and what it meant that he knew it mattered and why it mattered that he knew what it meant, and it was this circular, spherical, spiraling curvature of thought that buoyed him upward, and into the barrier of pain again.

Exploding, blinding pain. Blinding—was there something beyond blinding? There was nothing here, though, not even awareness, except awareness of the pain. And memory, more intense now than before (before what?) that there was something besides the pain. He could sink back away from it, and he knew that he could find that safe, dark, vague place again. He remembered where it was. He could not remember what was beyond the pain, though, or if there was, indeed, anything beyond it. Except that he was supposed to reach beyond it. Searing, numbing, gripping pain.

His eyes came open, almost of their own accord. _I should have added something to that Enervating Potion for the pain_, he thought, his fingers suddenly curling around whatever it was he was laying on top of. His breathing was ragged, and it was only because he was forcing himself to do so that he breathed at all. Breathing was important; he seemed to remember that from somewhere. A strangled moan slipped from his lips, but he hadn't the energy to do more than that. And the darkness. It was too dark. When he opened his eyes, it was supposed to be light again.

He'd done something wrong. Closing his eyes, he fell back below the surface of consciousness again, but this time he took memory with him. He just needed to mull over things for a few minutes (or eons) more before he tried that waking thing again.

He drifted in the desensitizing arms of unconsciousness once more, riding waves of nothing, carried by currents of nothing, and thinking about what had happened. He needed to do something. He needed to... he needed to drink a potion for the pain. Was there such a thing? Yes. Yes, there was. It was in his pocket. There were a number of things in his pocket, actually, now that he thought about it—including something very important but he couldn't remember what. Probably something for the pain. And he was going to… He was going to incite that pain again so that he could drink a potion for the pain (lucky he hadn't brought logic along with him when he sank back into unconsciousness, as logic would likely not be particularly pleased with the idea of enduring pain just so he could take a potion for it.)

And then he needed to find out what had happened to Weasley. Wait. There was more than one Weasley, wasn't there? He considered that for a minute, wondering what a Weasley was, and came to the conclusion that it was something important he had to see to, and he couldn't do that unless he drank the pain potion but first he had to face the pain again. He wasn't ready to face the pain again yet, though, so he thought about something else. This business of thinking and remembering was really quite seductive, actually.

Those dunderheads had better appreciate this, he thought distantly, and immediately wondered which dunderheads were supposed to appreciate something and why they needed to appreciate it. Of course. The pain was there because he had… he had… well, he didn't seem to be able to find that memory just yet, and rather than worry about it, he thought grimly that if those idiots hadn't survived, he was going to kill him. Again, worth noting that he'd not brought logic down here with him.

Armed with this knowledge that he needed to venture back into that quagmire of pain once more and break the surface so he could find the pain potion and tend to the business of killing the dunderheads if they hadn't survived, Severus began his ascent back towards consciousness. The pain was like a brick wall, and memory and thought threatened to desert him, but he knew he would need their help if he was to survive that wall of pain, so he clung to them. Clung to memories that were growing ever more clear and precise, to thoughts that were more focused and coherent, and to anything he could find that would distract him, even for a fraction of a second, from the white-hot pain that seemed to have replaced his blood.

His fingers clutched at the bed again, but this time, memory took over, thankfully, and reminded him that muscles were there to be used, and they were not best used by squeezing the blanket into a wad of wool. It took a great deal more coordination than he remembered, but he finally managed to roll over, and immediately regretted it as his hip came into contact with something hard. Grimacing, he shifted his weight, and ended face down on the mattress, his nose pressed into the pillow. And _that_ was uncomfortable. The pain was bad enough without him having to be uncomfortable to boot.

Forcing his arms to move, he braced his hands against the mattress and hauled himself up, almost into a seated position, but not quite, and then shifted his weight to one hand and groped in his pocket for the potion he knew he had. His fingers closed around a small bottle, and he brought it, hand trembling to his lips. There was a cork in it, though, and that was going to prevent him from drinking it. Frustrated that the universe was conspiring against him (and logic still not having returned to his repertoire of mental facilities) Severus collapsed onto the mattress again, his fingers still curled around the bottle of potion.

"You are not going to pass out again," he muttered to himself. "Not yet. Master yourself."

Master yourself. Yes. He'd told Harry Potter that. The boy who lived. The boy who had better still be alive or was going to die at Severus' hands, no matter what that old coot had to say about it.

Lifting his head again with some difficulty, Severus brought the potion to his lips and caught the cork between his teeth, ripping it from the bottle. He tilted the liquid into his mouth, and after a moment, remembered that he was supposed to swallow it, and then finally let his head fall to the pillow again. Killing Potter could wait until the potion had a chance to work, and Severus sank gratefully back into unconsciousness, thought and memory both abandoning him this time.

When he broke the surface of awareness again, the journey was easier, and he found that his muscles were more cooperative. No idea how long he'd been unconscious, but logic (which had finally returned) told him that it couldn't have been long, as he could still taste the honeyed sweetness of the potion he'd drunk. He pushed himself up slowly, sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping the mattress and waiting patiently for the world to stop spinning around him. It did, finally, and he stood, cringing slightly at the cold of the floorboards beneath his feet. _Shouldn't I be wearing shoes?_

He took three lurching steps forward, and then caught himself, leaning against the wall for support until he regained his equilibrium, and then pushed the door open. He took a few stumbling steps into the hall, catching himself on the wall again just before he acquainted his nose with the floor, and then took a few more steps. It was a slow process, this business of walking, when every three steps or so he had to stop to steady himself. By the time he reached the stairs, though, he was taking ten steps at a time before he had to catch himself, and there was a banister, and hopefully that would be enough to get him downstairs. All the way downstairs.

He stumbled and picked his way down, nearly falling twice, but managing both times to regain his footing just before toppling down the stairs. When he finally reached the first floor, he leaned against the wall, breathing heavily from the exertion, and thinking that coming downstairs might not have been the best idea. And why had he come downstairs to begin with?

A door opened, and he turned his eyes to it, and there was one of the reasons he'd come downstairs. One of the dunderheads. She was carrying a tray of tea things, and emerging into the hall, but she suddenly stopped in the doorway, staring, her mouth open. The tray tumbled out of her hands, and though Severus saw it slipping, there was nothing in the world he could have done to prevent it from falling, so he didn't even try. It hit the floor with a crash, and a bloodcurdling scream ripped from the dunderhead's throat.

Severus winced. "Miss Granger," he said in an icy tone, "kindly stop that loathsome noi—oof."

He blinked, looking down, suddenly finding himself in possession of one hysterical Hermione Granger who had somehow attached herself to him, pinning him against the wall. His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, and he hesitated, not really sure what to do with her now that he had her, but finally deciding that there was nothing wrong with touching her hair. Which was considerably softer than he'd ever thought it would be.

There was a chorus of scraping and thudding sounds from down the hall, and thudding sounds from the door through which Hermione had emerged, and then a gasp.

"But… but you're dead…" came an all-too-familiar voice from across the hall.

Severus closed his eyes, trying to clear his vision which had taken the opportunity to blur slightly, and shook his head. "Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Potter, but I am quite alive. And if Miss Granger will allow me to breathe, I might _remain_ alive for another few minutes."

"Severus!"

That exclamation came from no fewer than a dozen people, and Severus looked towards the growing crowd in the hallway. A crowd that seemed, as a whole, almost afraid to move forward. Harry and Ginny were standing in the doorway across the hall from him, also not moving. Hermione, it seemed, wasn't inclined to move either, as she was still clinging to him, and had not loosened her death grip by a fraction.

Right. Plan of action. First remove self from Hermione's grip, then inquire as to health of three more Weasleys, then find most expedient way to find bed.

He lifted a hand, moving Hermione's hair away from her face and his lips—he'd been getting a mouthful of her bushy mane for the last several seconds—and then leaned his head to whisper directly into her ear. "Miss Granger? If it is convenient for you, will you _please_ detach yourself from me?"

She was shaking suddenly, and Severus rolled his eyes. Merlin's beard, the last thing he needed was a crying girl in his arms just now. He barely had the strength to support himself, let alone someone else, even with the wall at his back. He cast an imploring look at Remus, who was staring, agape, just like everyone else.

Finally, Remus jolted forward, and took Hermione by the shoulders, pulling her gently away. With enough space between them for Severus to take a deep breath without inhaling any part of her body, he could see that she wasn't sobbing, as he'd thought. There were tears on her cheeks, but the shaking appeared to be coming from laughter rather than weeping. He was _never_ going to understand women.

Forcing himself away from the wall, Severus turned to face the crowd at the end of the hall, not really sure what to say. Dumbledore saved him the trouble, though, suddenly rushing forward, and once again, Severus found himself in an embrace, but this one requiring much less energy on his own part. He leaned against the older wizard, who was holding him tightly.

"My boy," Dumbledore whispered, holding him. "We all thought we had lost you."


	40. Withdrawal

For a moment that stretched on for an eternity, Severus remained in Dumbledore's embrace. He'd never known the love of a father, had never known a grandfather, and there had been no older brothers, nor uncles, nor close family friends to fill that role in his life. No one except, perhaps, the Headmaster, who had always treated him almost like a son. Or perhaps exactly like a son; Severus had little idea what was the 'normal' way for a father and son to react towards one another. So, perhaps it was normal that for the moment at least, Severus had no inclination to move.

At length, though, he became aware that there was a growing awkwardness among the crowd in general, and a fair bit of whispering. Confusion, of course. Curiosity. Everyone wanted to know what had happened, but everyone was still being polite enough not to ask it. Stifling a sigh, Severus straightened, pulling away from the comforting embrace, and made a concerted effort to remain upright. He did not stand long, though, before he felt another hand on his shoulder, and he was pulled into another firm embrace.

Lupin this time. A glance told Severus that Remus had left Hermione with the other two students, and, despite an initial inclination to tell the werewolf to leave him alone, Severus endured the ordeal with something resembling grace. Only to find himself pressed next into the thin arms of Tonks, who hugged him fiercely. Then Moody grasped his hand.

Distantly, Severus couldn't help but note that more people had _touched_ him in the last five minutes than in the last five years of his life, and it wasn't over. Bill took his hand, though there was a stiffness to the eldest Weasley's gesture that almost made Severus wince inwardly. He would have to find a moment to speak with all the Weasleys, it seemed. One by one, Severus found himself clapped on the back, or hugged, or his hand shook by each member of the Order who was present, though there were few words that accompanied the gestures.

It was all exceedingly awkward.

When Minerva stepped forward, the last of them, Severus allowed himself to be pulled firmly into her embrace, and after a moment, he relaxed in her arms as well, as he once had when he was a child. He leaned against her more than he would have preferred, but he was utterly exhausted, and had little choice if he did not intend to fall and dispose of what little dignity remained to him.

"Come on," she said softly. "I think we need to find you a chair." She cast a sharp look at Bill, who bolted forward. Reluctantly, Severus abandoned the relative safety of Minerva's arms for the more questionable aid of the Weasley who seemed most inclined to hold him personally responsible for everything bad that had ever happened, from the rise of Voldemort to every sock he'd ever lost.

If he'd spent a little less time being passed from one person to another, Severus probably could have made it into the kitchen on his own, with nothing more than his bruised pride holding him up. As it was, he leaned heavily against Bill, and allowed himself to be guided into a chair at the kitchen table. Tonks placed a tea cup in front of him, and he offered her a grateful, if awkward smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," he said to Bill, who shrugged.

"Don't mention it." There was an ice in his voice that suggested that the young wizard might mean that literally. As in 'don't remind me that I helped you, even if it was under orders from McGonagall.'

For a long moment, there was silence, except the sounds associated with the Potions Master sipping his tea and the cup being refilled three times as he emptied it—he'd not anticipated being this _thirsty_, nor had he realized he was until Tonks had brought him the tea. The silence was not, however, exactly companionable. Despite the shows of relief from earlier in the hallway, it was apparent that a number of the Order were not convinced of his loyalty, suddenly. Perhaps it was easier to believe in the intentions of a man who had died for the Order than it was to believe in those of a man who had cheated death. Or, perhaps there was simply a degree of uncertainty surrounding the fact that they were sitting at the table with a man they had all thought to be dead.

And, for his part, Severus could almost taste their hatred and disgust for him. He had poisoned the Weasleys, after all, and that was barely three days after he'd hit Lupin with a Cruciatus Curse; if he was out to make friends, he was picking some unusual ways of going about it. If he'd had the energy right then, he would have taken himself back upstairs, set some wards for his own personal safety, and then slept until he trusted himself to properly Floo back to his own rooms at Hogwarts. From whence he might never again emerge.

At length, he came to the conclusion that someone was going to have to break the crystalline silence, and he was as likely a candidate as anyone else. More likely than some, perhaps. Clearing his throat softly, he looked at Arthur. "How are Fred and George and Ron?"

"You should know better than the rest of us," Bill replied, his voice having dropped a few degrees from merely icy to subarctic. "You, after all, are the one who tried to kill them."

"Bill…" Minerva sounded tired, as though this was a conversation she'd had already this evening.

"Then they are resting quietly," Severus said softly. "And will wake with headaches. And I did not try to kill your brothers, Mr. Weasley. Had I intended them to die, they would certainly be dead." Perhaps it was not the most comforting thing he could have said, but it was the truth.

"Why did you poison them?" All heads in the room turned towards the doorway, where Harry, Hermione and Ginny were standing, the latter two behind the former. It was Harry who had spoken. "Why them? Why not me?"

Severus was beginning to develop a faint headache of his own. "It would have killed you, Mr. Potter. You see, I was anticipating adults, not children." His voice sounded distant to his ears, as though he were in a cave somewhere, hearing the echo of his words. "I don't know why I was not prepared for children."

"That explains George and Fred," Harry said, seeming to hold in his temper. "But why Ron?"

"Because Ron is bigger than you are," Severus replied. "He's taller, he weighs more. He comes closer to being an adult, physically at least, than any of the rest of you."

Remus, who was sitting beside Severus, placed a hand over his, and Severus instinctively flinched away. Remus withdrew his hand.

"But why poison them at all?" It was Shacklebolt this time.

"It was the most effective way I could think of to save them. I chose potions that would enter the bloodstream quickly, but would not kill in the amount I gave them."

"Then how was it dangerous to the Death Eaters?" This was Hermione, who was edging into the kitchen now, towards her seat. "If you gave the boys enough poison to kill Death Eaters who barely… I mean, even between the three of them… they couldn't have…"

Severus snorted softly. "What you are asking, Miss Granger, is how is it that a taste of each of the three boys' blood would be dangerous to a man, but leave the boys alive?"

She nodded. "If it was enough to kill a Death Eater, would it not be enough…"

Severus lowered his head into his hand. "It would be," he conceded. "If I were relying on volume. As it happened, though, Ron, Fred and George each had a different potion. It was the _combination_ of potions that accomplished the feat. And, incidentally, that is why the antidote did not completely cure them all—I had anticipated administering the antidote myself, but I did not wish the added risk of remembering which bottles went with which victim. And my pockets were already full enough as it was."

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen, and seconds ticked by at a painful pace. There was an unspoken question in the air, one to which no one seemed inclined to give voice, but it was palpable, like the chill of a ghost passing through. Unspoken though it was, however, Severus knew both question and answer, and he was the only one blessed with the knowledge of both. He opted not to answer it until and unless it was asked.

Little by little, his energy seeped away from him, like sap oozing from a tree. His eyes drifted shut, and his awareness heightened through his other senses—he could hear everyone breathing, feel Remus' proximity, smell Tonks' perfume. His head felt thick, as though it were made of lead and layered in cotton, and detached from the rest of him, and it was just as well. The rest of his body was a myriad of pain. There was a sharp pain on his right side, and a numb pain on his left ankle, and a general discomfort from his shoulders down. He felt slightly feverish, and more than slightly queasy. He wanted Dumbledore to order him to bed so he'd have a good excuse to go.

After a lengthy silence, there was the sound of a chair scraping against the floor, and it seemed to come to a halt right behind him. A moment later, there was a hand on his back, and once more, Severus flinched, his muscles tightening as he made an almost unconscious effort to get away from the invasion. The hand did not move, though, and after a moment, he relaxed.

"Why aren't you dead?" It was Potter's voice across the table, and Severus squeezed his eyes closed, grateful that his head was already in his hand and his face, therefore, not visible to the others. He didn't want them to know that a statement such as that struck him to the core.

"Because you aren't that lucky, Potter," he replied evenly, still not lifting his head. The hand that had been laying so gently on his back was starting to… to _pet_ him. Almost exactly the way he petted Kitty to make the little black feline purr. Severus thought he could understand why the kitten seemed to enjoy it so much, but he held himself carefully still.

When Harry spoke again, he sounded abashed, and Severus could only imagine the look that Minerva or Dumbledore must have leveled on him to produce such a change in tone. "What I meant, sir, was how did you… how did you survive? You drank the same…"

Severus laughed softly, humorlessly. "I did not, Mr. Potter," he replied. "Contrary to popular rumor, I am no vampire, and I find no particular joy in acting as though I am one."

"But I saw you…"

"Appearances can be deceiving," he interrupted blandly.

"Then why did you… how did you seem… dead?"

For a moment, Severus considered how best to answer that question. After a moment's deliberation, he spoke in a low, confident voice—the same voice he used when he was teaching. Barely above a whisper, yet with the silent threat of dire consequences for any who did not listen, and even exhausted as he was, he knew it would have the desired effect. "Tell me, Mr. Potter," he murmured. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

There was a soft laugh from across the table, but Severus couldn't tell to whom it belonged. The hand on his back paused its stroking, and kneaded gently at the base of his neck for a moment.

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as Draught of Living Death," Potter replied, repeating back, verbatim, the information Severus had given him the first time they'd ever spoken.

"Well," Severus muttered. "I'm pleased to know that you do pay at least a _little_ attention in my class." He reached into his pocket, and the hand on his back finally left him, and he felt oddly exposed without it. Lifting his head, he placed three small caplets on the table and pointed to the first with a long finger. "Powdered root of asphodel," he said softly, then pointed to the next. "Wormwood." His finger moved to the third and final. "And the antidote to the Draught. The first two coated to deliver their contents ten minutes after ingestion. This one," he indicated the antidote, "two hours later."

After a moment, Harry nodded.

"Any more questions, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir," Harry replied sullenly.

"Well," Minerva stood abruptly. "I think it's time Professor Snape found a bed. Come, Severus," she said sternly, and he felt her hands on his shoulders, "and _no arguments_. There is nothing here that cannot wait until tomorrow." The irony was that he wouldn't have argued if he _did_ have the energy—bed was exactly what he wanted.

He gathered the three pills from the table and placed them in his pocket again, and as he did, his hand brushed against something hard and smooth. Curling his fingers around it, he withdrew a small vial from his pocket, and then opened his palm, staring at it. He looked to Dumbledore. "I'm afraid, Headmaster," he began softly, "that I will not be able to return to the Dark Lord's side; he will not welcome me back a third time, I'm sure. I have a memento, though." He placed the vial on the table in front of Dumbledore, and the Headmaster picked it up, holding it up to the light, staring at it. He turned it one way and then another, looking through it.

"Is this—?" he began, and Severus caught his eye.

"Blood," he said softly. "Which will, perhaps, be useful with a certain map."

There was a murmur across the table, and this time, Severus stood. Lupin stood as well. "I'll help him, Minerva," Remus offered. "Don't bother yourself."

Minerva nodded and stepped aside, and Lupin took her place, sliding his arm behind Severus' back. Severus straightened. "I do not need assistance," he said shortly, and Lupin nodded, dropping his arm to his side again.

"All right," he replied good-naturedly. "I'll just follow you up then. I need to check on Molly and the boys anyway."

They walked in silence from the kitchen, Severus at a much slower pace than was customary, Remus lingering. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Severus paused, leaning against the wall as the hall began to swim again.

"Severus? Are you all right?" There was a definite note of concern in Remus' voice, and a closeness again as the werewolf slid his arm behind Severus' back once more.

"Just tired," he lied. "I think… I think perhaps I'd rather stay down here if…"

"Nonsense," Remus said softly. "You'll go to bed properly. You're not as likely to be disturbed upstairs, either. I'll help you, but you're not going to spend the night cramped on a sofa."

"Please," Severus murmured, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the wall. "I don't think I can…"

"Of course you can. Now come on. Just upstairs." Remus was pulling him towards the stairs and Severus had little choice except to follow. One step at a time. One slow, painful step, and then another. He concentrated on moving his feet, trying to block out everything else. Remus, unfortunately, wasn't helping. "How are you feeling?" he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

"Like I've been hit like a train," Severus muttered in response.

"You _look _like you've been hit by a train," Remus noted, and Severus couldn't quite help but snort.

"I suppose that's an improvement from greasy git, then." Chuckling, Remus gave his arm a slight squeeze, an Severus scowled. "I am _certain_ that I have asked you not to do that," he said softly.

"You've told me very bluntly not to touch you at all," Remus replied blithely. "But seeing as you're going to topple down the stairs if I let go just now, I hardly think you're in a position to protest at the moment."

Severus had no ready answer for that—likely a mark of how very tired and in how much pain he was. Another two steps. "Why are you doing this?" he asked finally.

He could feel Remus' head bobbing back and forth slightly as though he were considering the question from different angles. "I suppose that depends on exactly what you're talking about," he replied. "Why am I insisting you go upstairs? Because I think you'll be more comfortable, and I think a good night's sleep will go farther towards healing you than anything anyone could force down your throat right now. Why am I helping you? Because even if you have everyone else ass-whipped into catering to your pride, I'm not, and I know that if you break your neck going upstairs it will be me and Bill picking you up from the floor and figuring out how to get you to Pomfrey so she can put you back together."

"Touching," Severus muttered. "But you know as well as I do that there are more expedient ways of getting injured people from point 'a' to point 'b'. Why are you 'catering to my pride' as you put it?"

"Do you _want_ me to use mobilicorpus and carry you upstairs?" Remus asked, pausing and looking at Severus while he readjusted his supportive arm.

"Absolutely not," Severus replied, taking the moment to breathe heavily. They were more than halfway up the stairs. _Just a little farther._

"Then stop arguing."

"I'm not arguing. I just want to know why."

Remus urged him up three more steps, and Severus knew that he was leaning increasingly on the other wizard. And, unlike Bill who would have probably been capable of picking up the two of them at the same time, Remus was in no better condition for carrying an adult up a flight of stairs than Severus would have been.

"You keep asking that, Severus," Remus observed softly. "In different contexts, but that isn't even the first time this week that I've heard you ask me why I'm doing something, and the answer hasn't changed. I consider you a friend, whether you think the same of me or not, and I'd help any of my friends. Do I need to remind you that every day?"

"You're not answering my question, or I wouldn't keep asking it," Severus replied.

"Then what are you asking me?"

"Why? Why do you…" he fumbled for a word for a minute, then gestured irritatedly, his hand taking in the stairs.

"I told you. Because…"

"Because you're a friend. I know. I'm not that thick." They reached the second floor, finally, and Severus wrenched away from Lupin, leaning against the wall and closing his eyes. "But what do you want in return?"

Lupin's arm disappeared from Severus' back, and when Severus opened his eyes, the other wizard was leaning against the opposite wall, his arms folded, studying him as though he couldn't quite work something out. "Have you ever had true friends, Severus?" he asked softly after a moment.

"Of course I've had friends," Severus snapped. "Just because I wasn't part of a malicious group of pranksters…"

"Save it. And I said _true_ friends. Friends who didn't want anything in return except friendship?"

Severus thought that through for a moment, but only a moment. It took him only a moment to reach a conclusion, and he shook his head. "Such a thing does not exist," he replied evenly. "Everyone wants something."

"Were you born that cynical?" It was a rhetorical question, though, and Remus pushed himself away from the wall and stepped towards Severus again, taking his arm. "Come on."

Severus stepped away from Remus' touch, and his foot caught the top of the stair, and for a minute he teettered, fighting a battle for his balance. Remus pulled him firmly away from the top of the stairs and sighed. "For fuck's sake, Severus, don't kill yourself trying to get away from me. I won't touch you again unless it's your life. You have my word." There was an edge to Lupin's voice as he fell into step behind the slow-moving potions master. "Perhaps I should ask you what you want from me, then, if you're so adamant that everyone wants something."

"Perhaps you should have asked that before you started trying to cultivate a friendship," Severus replied testily.

"Well? What is it that you want?"

"I am not the one who keeps pretending that we are friends," he snapped in return, and he felt, rather than heard, Lupin stop walking abruptly.

"Of course," Remus said softly. "How foolish of me." There was a pause in which Severus had ample time to regret having been so scathing, but for once, Remus' good-naturedness did not seem willing to forgive the slight. "Second door on the left, Severus," he said coldly. "That's where Autumn is, and I thought you might both benefit from each other's presence. If I'm wrong, sleep on the goddamn floor for all I care. Good _night_."

* * *

A/N: Thanks, Cecelle, for catching my oops. And, the reason for Ron-- he's larger. The books suggest that Harry is small and that Ron is tall, at least. Anyway, I added a line in the story to explain that.


	41. Lullaby

The sound of rapidly retreating footfalls was the only indication Severus had that Remus had turned and walked away. The uneven rhythm of his descending the stairs, and then the slamming of a door downstairs somewhere. Severus finally turned and peered in the direction in which Remus had left, and sighed heavily.

_Satisfied? _he asked himself sourly. _See if you can't turn Dumbledore against you next. You're doing a damn good job of alienating everyone._

With a sigh, he forced himself to begin moving again, towards the room Remus had indicated that Autumn was in, though he had his reservations about that. He was halfway there when he heard a soft, muffled melody drifting through one of the doors. Pausing at a door that was slightly ajar, Severus pushed it open slowly, and peered inside. It was Molly, her back to the door, singing a soft lullaby to one of the twins, caressing his face.

Severus felt like an intruder, but he could not rip himself away from the doorway, and just stood there, watching, the melody filling his ears and mind.

"Dreams are on the nightwind, and dreams are in my heart, and when one dream has ended, another dream will start," she was singing in a soft, tear-broken voice, and he leaned against the doorframe, his eyes closing. What must it be like to have someone care so unconditionally? At that moment, Severus could admit to himself at least what he would have never thought possible—that was what he wanted. He wanted someone to care about him, to sit at his bedside and hold his hand, to whisper that everything was going to be all right. And he was damnably jealous that he couldn't have it.

"Give me your tomorrows, and I will give you mine," Molly sang. Her voice was off-key, shaking, the tune wavering and impossible, but it was a song made beautiful by a mother's love. For a little while, Severus had allowed himself to be convinced that he could find that, but standing here now, he knew it was folly. Some people were born to be loved, and others not, and he fell into the latter category.

"The stars all nod their heads, and the moon has closed his eyes..."

He could imagine the reception those three boys would have when they woke. There would be no screams, no awkward moments as they were stiffly embraced by one, and then another person who did not mean it. There would be no demands for explanations. He could imagine the tearful joy that they lived, the overwhelming relief, the laughter bubbling from lips that had been quivering with lament... When the Weasley boys awoke, it would not be to distrustful stares.

"To a lullaby of love's design..."

Ron stirred in the bed farthest from the door, and Severus stepped into the shadows in the hall, still watching as Molly suddenly stopped singing and rushed to his bedside. She sat on the bed, leaning over him, her hands on his face.

"How do you feel?" she asked, and even from outside the room, Severus could hear the relief in her voice.

"Head hurts," Ron murmured.

_Mine too,_ Severus thought silently, and turned quietly into the hall again, drifting away from the room. He walked slowly to the room which housed Autumn, but he paused, his hand on the doorknob, considering. After a moment, he turned and made his way carefully, silently, slowly upstairs, and into his room again. He opened the drawer on the nightstand, frowning as he pulled out his mask, not remembering putting that there. Discarding the mask on the bed, he rummaged through the scant contents of the drawer, and finally gave up finding anything worthwhile in there. He'd been hoping there had been a spare bottle of headache potion stashed in the drawer, but there was not.

Sinking onto the bed for a moment, he stared blankly at the wall, trying to gather his thoughts. He could think of nothing, though. He was, as it happened, utterly useless. If he'd had the energy, he would have Apparated away from Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, and he wasn't sure he would have ever returned. As it happened, though, he did not have the energy. He barely had the energy to sit upright, but what he lacked in energy, he suddenly made up for in conviction. Standing, he looked around the room once more, wishing he knew where his shoes were, but, not finding them decided it was unimportant. Through a skillful combination of determination and pride, he made his way downstairs again, and paused at the door to the kitchen, taking a deep breath.

Bracing himself for the effort it would require, he banged the door open suddenly and stalked in, cutting a path across the kitchen to the fireplace and picking up the bowl of Floo powder from the mantle.

"Severus! I thought you were in bed!" Minerva was standing suddenly, and Severus glared at her, silently warning her to stay where she was.

"I have work to do," he replied harshly, and, before anyone else could protest, he tossed the powder into the fireplace and stepped in, intoning his destination. A heartbeat later, he stepped out of the fireplace and into his office at Hogwarts, leaning heavily against the wall for support.

* * *

Two hours later, Severus re-emerged into the kitchen at Number Twelve. He had taken a shower, and a bottle of Energizing Infusion, and if he was still tired, he did not feel as though he were about to topple over. It was late enough that most of the people who had been in the house when he left had gone, and only Remus and Bill remained in the kitchen. They shot him twin venomous looks as he stepped out of the fireplace, and Severus ignored them both.

"Is it really necessary for you to Floo in here at all times of the night, Snape?" Lupin asked, and Severus cringed inwardly. He couldn't remember the last time the werewolf had referred to him as 'Snape' instead of 'Severus', and it dug deeper than he cared to admit.

"Sometimes it is," he replied evenly, brushing himself off. Without another word, he stalked out of the kitchen and headed for the stairs, and was only vaguely aware that he was being followed. It wasn't until he reached the door to the room where the Weasley boys were that either of two men behind him spoke, and, unsurprisingly, it was Bill.

"You are _not_ going in there," he said firmly, stepping in front of Severus and blocking his path.

Severus had little patience for nonsense. "Move out of the way, Bill," he said tiredly. "You are not going to prevent me from going anywhere I please."

"I'm going to prevent you from going in that room," Bill replied. "You've done enough for one night. Just get the hell out of here."

For a moment, Severus stared at the eldest Weasley boy, stunned. He was accustomed to indirect hostility, but had not been prepared for such blunt loathing. During the space of his hesitation, Remus stepped between Bill and Severus.

"I'm not going to order you out," he said softly, "because you are a member of this Order until and unless Dumbledore sees fit to change that. But I am going to insist that you be more considerate of the others in this house. Those three boys are _not_ to be disturbed, by anyone. They are still recovering and..."

"Sod off, Lupin," Severus snapped, and, perhaps a bit peevishly, he simply Apparated into the room. Much to the protest of the two men outside.

Molly was arranging a cloth on Ron's head, and she turned around sharply at the popping as Severus appeared in the room and began stalking over. Her eyes were wide, but the shock was indignant, not fearful. She knew, then, that he was alive. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, standing and bracing her hands on her hips.

"Step aside, Molly," he ordered tersely, reaching into his pocket. He brought forth half a dozen small vials. "Ron's primary complaint is a headache, correct?" he asked as he approached the bed.

"Get away from him."

Severus ignored her, and sat on the edge of the bed, touching Ron's shoulder. The boy woke, and his eyes widened at the sight of the one responsible for his condition.

"What do you think you're doing?" Molly demanded, but Severus ignored her, and moved his hand behind Ron's neck, lifting the boy's head from his pillow.

"Drink this," he commanded, flicking the cork from one of the bottles with his thumb, and pressing the flask to Ron's lips.

"GET AWAY FROM MY SON!" Molly screamed, and the door burst open, Remus and Bill both charging in, wands drawn. Severus tilted the potion down Ron's throat, ignoring the rapidly filling room.

"Knight to H-7," Severus whispered to Ron, whose eyes widened slightly. "Check." He set the bottle aside and lowered Ron gently to the bed again, then turned to Molly. "Have either of the other two wakened yet?" he asked, and she stared icily at him. After a long pause, it became apparent that she was not going to answer, so he sighed and separated the bottles, two on one side of the table and three on the other. "For headaches, pain and dizziness," he pointed to the two, "or for nausea," he indicated the other three. "And they're safe to mix."

He turned back to Ron and patted his shoulder. "Get some rest, Mr. Weasley. You have a Potions exam to be studying for tomorrow." Having said this, Severus stood and brushed past the other three occupants of the room, ignoring them all. Making a special effort to ignore Remus.

He made his way down the hall, and, after only a brief hesitation, let himself into the room where Autumn was sleeping.

For a moment, he watched her from the door. She looked so peaceful, her hair spread over one pillow, the other clutched in a tight embrace. She was not whimpering or giving any indication that she was dreaming, which was probably just as well. He slipped the rest of the way into the room, bringing a chair to the bedside and settling into it to watch her.

"I'm sorry I brought you into this," he whispered into the darkness, his eyes on Autumn. He knew that he hadn't really brought her into it, that she would, in fact, have most likely been dead if not for him. It was Willow who had unwittingly brought her into it. _And Willow who unwittingly saved her. Don't give yourself credit for being an unsuspecting implement in this situation._ "I truly am sorry," he repeated, and then fell silent for a moment, his eyes losing some of their focus in the darkness. "I'm sorry for a lot of things, actually."

He shifted in the chair, propping his feet on the edge of the bed, careful not to touch her, lest he wake her. "I've been making mistakes all my life, it seems. Fitting, since I was a mistake to begin with. It was a mistake to ever become involved in any of this. Sometimes..." he frowned at himself, idly wondering what was possessing him to talk like this, "sometimes I wish I'd died long before I ever started school. You know, I don't remember being lonely or miserable when I was a child, because I didn't know anything other than the existence that I had. I didn't know that it wasn't right to keep a child locked in his room when there were guests because mother didn't want a disturbance in her... whatever it is women do when they're together. It never occurred to me that my father shouldn't have taken his own frustrated failures out on me. I never thought twice about being an inconvenience. An added strain to an already stretched budget which barely accommodated my mother's desire to be like the Malfoys and the Notts."

He peered into the darkness, squinting at Autumn, but she hadn't stirred. She was well and truly asleep, it seemed. His eyes darted to the bedside table, and settled on a small, empty bottle. Asleep under the influence of a potion, it seemed. Reassured that she wouldn't wake, he continued. "I didn't realize until I started Hogwarts that there was something more to life. My very first inclination. And I was such a miserable failure at it," he whispered, his eyes focused deep into the darkness of the room, seeing past Autumn, into the past. "They called me a slimy, greasy git. And they were right. I didn't really understand it then, but they were right. I didn't know how to act, how to speak... hell, I didn't even know how to wash my hair properly. So much of my education, which should have been begun when I was a boy in my parents' flat, was lacking. It's no wonder they laughed at me. I would have done the same thing. But it wasn't that they called me names. It was watching them, with their friends, getting their letters from home, asking out girls and talking to parties. That was when I realized that they had a great deal that I didn't. And I was so jealous I couldn't stand it.

"I tried so hard to be a good student. I spent my nights up late, studying, pouring over texts and memorizing spells. Practicing. When they were having dinner, I was in the library, a book in front of me, reading. I found out that I was a fast learner, and I put that knowledge to use, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could make myself stand out by being smart." He looked at Autumn suddenly, and a melancholy smile touched his face in the darkness. "I know you don't understand this, but that's not a very Slytherin thing to do, you know. But even all my studying couldn't set me apart. I wasn't the best, nor even the second best. A distant third, perhaps, if that."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Severus tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a minute. "The Dark Lord promised me power," he said softly. "And power was something I'd never had. I was sixteen, and foolish, and I didn't have anyone around me to tell me that I had another choice. There was no one to counter any of the promises. I was going to have the power to get back at my father, and to get back at a number of my classmates who were... well, quite honestly, they were real jackasses. Of course I was too stupid to think beyond that

"I'm not going to tell you about being a Death Eater," he murmured apologetically to the still sleeping form. "I'm afraid that even a Dreamless Sleep potion wouldn't be enough to block out the images. But it was bad. And then I finally had my chance to right some of the past wrongs, and I became a spy. A traitor. I betrayed the side of right once, by turning to the Dark Lord, and then I betrayed the Dark Lord by becoming Dumbledore's spy. And then, to maintain my pretense, I convinced the Dark Lord that I was a double agent to _his_ benefit. There were times I could barely keep up with my own lies. And I thought it a fitting punishment for the choices I'd made. And I never gave any particular thought to what I was doing. I was, very simply, doing a job. A dangerous job, but a job. I hadn't many friends... if you ask Remus, I hadn't any friends. Friends are a liability when you walk the line of loyalty."

He fell silent for a long minute before he continued. "I snapped at Remus tonight. I don't know why. I accused him of wanting something from me since he was being a friend, but I don't know why I said that. He's probably the second person to ever offer me something without expecting anything in return—Aislinn was the first. But I don't think Remus wants anything from me. Wanted anything from me. I'm quite certain he doesn't want anything from me now, and I can hardly say I blame him. I... I rather regret snapping at him." That was an understatement. Severus was acutely aware of the fact that he'd driven away the one person he could have called a friend.

"But it frightens me," Severus murmured. "Death Eaters and killing curses and Dark Creatures and criminals... I'd be a fool if I wasn't frightened sometimes, but those are things I can face and conquer. I know I can conquer them. I don't know how to go about accepting friendship. The price seems much higher, somehow, than anything else I could ever challenge. Stupid, isn't it?" He snorted derisively and closed his eyes. "I wish I hadn't been so short with Remus. He didn't deserve that, and... and I think I'm going to miss talking to him. Another mistake for me. If I had an autobiography, I think I'd call it 'The Mistake'."

He stretched suddenly, and put his feet on the floor again, leaning forward to peer at Autumn's face. She still hadn't moved. "You know," he said softly, "people have been telling me for years that I need to 'talk'. 'Don't hold everything inside, Severus. Talk to me, Severus. Tell me how you feel. It will do you good to talk it out.' It wasn't the talking part that I objected to. It was the fact that someone would have to _hear_ it, and I didn't think I could bear to let anyone hear those things. Maybe that's why I can talk to you now—I know you can't hear me. You won't remember any of this come morning. I suppose that makes it a little safer for me."

He leaned back in his chair again, watching her unmoving, unstirring form. "Who knows? If I sit here and talk to you long enough, I might even answer some of my own questions. Like Aislinn. Who was she, Autumn? I really thought I knew, but in the past two weeks I've learned just enough about her to realize I didn't know anything. And it's strange, but I think that's helping me let go..."

He spent the rest of the night talking to her, and it was only when the morning sunlight sliced through the darkness that he finally closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

A/N: The song Molly is singing is a lullaby called 'Lullaby of Love's Design' by Miria L'auroel. It's horribly anachronistic, I know, because this story should probably be taking place 1997-ish and that's a song written in 2003 but... I don't care.


	42. Dawning of a new day

A soft knocking woke Severus after only a couple of hours of sleep, and he yawned as he pulled himself from the chair and answered the door. It was Willow, who frowned at Severus, then peered past him into the room, frowning at Autumn. She took his hand and pulled him into the hall, shutting the door softly.

"You don't have the sense of a rock, do you?" she asked softly. "Why aren't you in bed with her?"

Severus sighed. "I'm not having this conversation," he replied stiffly, and took a step back from the red-haired half-witch in front of him. She caught his arm, though, and pulled him into a warm, gentle hug.

"I was so relieved to hear that you were all right," she whispered. "Autumn does know, doesn't she?"

Severus shook his head. "I didn't want to wake her."

Willow sighed. "You really are an idiot, you know that? Don't you think she would have slept a hundred times better knowing that you were safe?"

Severus snorted softly. "I think you're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Anyway, go down to breakfast. I came up to tell the two of you that it's ready." And Willow disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Severus standing in the hall, debating the wisdom of going down for breakfast. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to spend another minute in this house.

After a moment of deliberation, he reached the conclusion that he would go down to the kitchen, as he would need to be in that room, whether he ate or Flooed back to his own office. He steeled himself for the looks of reproach he expected when he entered the kitchen, but, as he opened the door, he found no such thing. In fact, everyone ignored him, for all intents and purposes. He hesitated just inside the door, still trying to decide whether to stay or leave. Eventually, leaving won out, and he walked past the table, pointedly pretending that there was no one else in the kitchen. He didn't make it halfway to the fireplace, though, before Molly intercepted him.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"Back to Hogwarts," he replied.

"No you aren't. Sit." She pointed at the table, and he considered protesting, but before he could open his mouth, she had her hand on his arm, pulling him to the table. "I said _sit_," she repeated. "_Everyone_ is eating breakfast, _at the table_, and I don't really care who does or does not want to be here."

For the first time, Severus looked at the others at the table. None of them looked particularly pleased, in all honesty. Hermione was studiously ignoring Harry, who was looking everywhere except at Ginny, who had her eyes trained on her empty plate. Remus was reading something, or at least making a pretense; his eyes were not moving. Bill was scowling. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands, his eyes closed. Fred and George were conspicuously quiet. Arthur was the only one who didn't seem to be going to great lengths to avoid looking at anyone else.

Severus sank into his chair, frowning at the table, and then finally looking at Arthur. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I think," Arthur said affably, "that it has been a long, stressful night for everyone and tempers are running just a little on the high side, and I think that several people have said a number of things they didn't mean in the last twelve hours."

"Oh." _And forcing everyone to the table is a good idea because…?_ He was perplexed, but momentarily fell into the same silence as everyone else. Severus, however, did not make any effort to avoid looking at anyone. In fact, one might have said he was staring at Remus, and Remus noticed whether he acknowledged it or not.

Finally, after several minutes, Remus put down his book and stared back at Severus. "What?" he asked pointedly. "Do you have something to say?"

For a moment, Severus considered his options, then swallowed his pride. "Yes," he said simply. "May I have a word?"

"Have as many as you like."

Severus flinched inwardly. "Privately?"

"Whatever you have to say you can say here. I'm bloody tired of taking your shit."

Briefly, Severus' temper flared, but he took a deep breath, determined not to contribute any more to the problem. "I deserve that," he admitted, ignoring the looks he was beginning to get from the children. "For what it's worth, I apologize. I shouldn't have said…"

"No, you shouldn't have," Remus agreed. "But I don't give a rat's ass that you _said_ it."

Frowning, Severus shook his head. "I don't understand. Then why…"

"Those were not words born of anger. Spoken in anger, perhaps, but…"

Severus scrubbed a hand over his face. "Can we _please_ discuss this in private?"

"No."

With another glance at the children, Severus took a deep breath, steeling himself. "What do you want me to say, Remus? I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."

"Tell him you didn't mean it," Ginny piped up suddenly, and Severus shot a glare at her. She shrugged. "Whatever it was, it helps if he knows you didn't mean it."

"He did mean it," Remus replied shortly.

Ginny's eyes widened slightly, and she looked at Severus, and he nodded.

"I did mean it," he conceded, then looked at Remus again. "But I've had a few hours to think it over, and I don't mean it anymore. And… you were right."

"Good tactic," Hermione nodded her approval. "Always good to tell someone they were right."

This time it was Remus who turned a glare to the end of the table, but Severus noted that Hermione wasn't even looking at them. She was looking at Harry. Harry was studying his fork as though it were an innovative new discovery.

"Remus…?" Lupin looked at Severus again. "You know I'm not good at this. But my intentions…"

Remus snorted. "You can start with telling me why I should bother. You've done nothing but snap at me for the last two weeks, and I'm _tired_ of it."

For a long minute, Severus was quiet. He considered pleading one more time that they have this conversation somewhere else, as he did not want to be discussing it in front of the entire assembled Weasley clan. On the other hand, though, he wanted to mend the tenuous friendship he'd developed in the past two weeks. He wanted that back. _So I suppose it's a contest of which you want more—your pride, or the friendship._

"You probably shouldn't," Severus said finally. "I'm not the world's most likely candidate for a trusted friend." He took a deep breath. "I'm not asking anything of you. I'm offering, and hoping you'll accept."

"See?" Ginny said pointedly, and Severus and Remus both snapped their heads to peer at the end of the table, but this time, none of the children were looking in their direction. Ginny and Hermione were glaring rather pointedly at Harry and Ron.

Severus caught Remus' eye, and lifted an eyebrow. "What are they on about?"

"No idea."

"Hm." He turned his attention back to Remus, and, after a moment's awkward silence, extended a hand across the table. "Please?" He sat there with his hand extended for a long moment, and Remus simply stared at him. Slowly, though, he took the offered hand, much to Severus' relief.

Severus offered a weak smile, then turned to Bill, who was still pointedly ignoring everyone in the room. For a moment, he considered trying to make amends with the eldest Weasley boy, but after that moment's thought, decided against it. He didn't think he had the energy for miracles just yet.

The door opened again, and all heads swiveled towards the entrance. It was Willow. Willow with no Autumn.

"Where…?" Hermione began, but Willow shook her head.

"She won't come down. She won't listen to me. She said she doesn't want to eat and…"

"Like bloody hell she's staying up there," Severus muttered, pushing back from the table. "If I can endure this, she can too." Had he hesitated for a minute before stalking out of the kitchen, he might have heard Willow hiss a warning at him.

"Don't do anything foolish! She doesn't even know you're still alive!"

Bolting up the stairs, Severus did pause to knock before he barged into the bedroom, but just barely. He did not wait for an answer before pushing the door open and stalking inside.

Autumn was sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard, her knees drawn the her chest, a pillow clutched to her breasts, staring out the window. She did not look at him when he walked in, did not move. Did not offer any indication that she knew anyone had entered the room, except a whispered, "Go away. I don't want breakfast, and I don't want to talk to anyone."

Severus paused, leaning against the wardrobe watching her for a moment, not sure what to say. After a moment, though, he stepped inside, and sank onto the bed.

"I said go away," she repeated, still not looking at him, and his heart ached for her. His heart ached, and his mind wondered—_is this how I've been acting?_ Pushing away people who want to help, not even looking at them, not even acknowledging them. Yes, that was very similar to the way he reacted to others.

"And if I don't want to?" he asked softly, sliding a hand onto her shoulder.

She started, and he could see her looking at his hand, and slowly she turned her head, as though afraid of what she might see. Her eyes widened as they landed on him, though, and she gasped. "Severus!" she whispered, and his next coherent realization was that he was lying on his back, Autumn on top of him, her arms wrapped tightly around him as her lips covered his.

"I thought… and you were… and Remus… and they said… and Willow…" she wasn't making a bit of sense, and he suspected that it was only half because her words were coming punctuated with kisses.

"Shhh," he whispered, wrapping his arms around her, trying to trap her against him. "It's all right. Everything is all right. Calm down, everything is all right…"

She burrowed her head against his shoulder, and he held her close, as tightly as he could, shifting beneath her to a more comfortable position; he'd not been prepared for the assault of her flying into his lap. She was crying. It was a strange realization, and an awkward one, and he lifted a hand to caress her hair, whispering soothingly into her ear. "It's all right," he repeated. "Everything is all right."

"I thought you were dead," she gasped, sobs beginning to shake her, and he struggled into a reclined position, leaning against the headboard, still holding her.

"I know," he whispered. "I'm sorry. Shhh." He rocked her gently in his arms, and she wrapped her arms more tightly around him, moving ever closer, her knee coming into contact with the sore rib he had. He ignored the sharp pain, though, and continued to rock her. "Shhh…"

After what seemed an eternity, she looked up, her face tear-streaked, her eyes bright red and shimmering still behind the tears. "What…?" she began, then, "How?"

"Later," he murmured, still holding her. "I'll tell you everything later."

Her head found his shoulder again, and he leaned back against the headboard, cradling her against him. She clung to him, and he stroked her hair softly, letting his fingers slide through the short locks, only vaguely aware when she began to calm. Finally, she was leaning against him, no longer shaking, no longer crying, and he was leaning his face against the top of her head, just holding her. Holding her for no reason in the world other than the fact that he _wanted_ to hold her.

"We should probably go downstairs," he murmured regretfully into her hair. "They'll wonder what's keeping us."

Autumn nodded against him, and, slowly as though she regretted having to move, she shifted herself off of him and stood. As she stood, she kept her eyes on him, as though afraid he was going to disappear again if she so much as blinked. Once he was free of her, he stood as well, and then reached for her hand, and she smiled as their fingers twined together.

He led her downstairs, and into the kitchen again, where the others were already eating. He pulled her chair for her, and, after she was seated, sat beside her, making an effort to ignore the looks he was receiving from the others at the table. He didn't even want to think about what those looks meant, but they were disapproving after a fashion. Autumn, at least, seemed blissfully unaware.

Finally, from the far end of the table, Willow spoke up. Of course it would be Willow, who never kept her mouth shut. "You really don't have the sense of a rock," she echoed her accusation from earlier. "Before it was because you didn't want to wake her. What's your excuse now?"

Even though no one else at the table could have possibly known what she was talking about, Severus felt his face darkening. "My reasons, and my excuses, are my own," he replied sharply.

Willow just shook her head and he could almost _feel _her rolling her eyes. "It's almost enough to make a girl wonder why anyone would put up with you," she commented.

Autumn looked across the table at Remus. "Did I miss something?" she asked, and Remus shrugged.

"If you did, I missed it too."

"Hrm, well, so long as we've all missed it, then I guess it's all right."

Severus took a profound interest in his bowl of oatmeal, keeping his mouth determinedly shut. Would that he could have said the same for Willow.

"I was merely pointing out to Severus that if he had any decency at all he would be upstairs shagging Autumn senseless instead of…"

"Willow!" Molly interrupted indignantly, and Harry and Ron both burst into laughter. Remus took a sudden interest in _his_ oatmeal as well, and Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth. Bill scrubbed a hand over his face. George and Fred both perked up suddenly, and were grinning. Autumn, for her part, was as red-faced as Severus felt he should be, and would have been if he were more prone to flushing.

"What?" Willow asked, sounding genuinely surprised at the reactions.

"Can't you find a more appropriate conversation topic for the breakfast table?" Molly asked, sounding scandalized.

"And what's more appropriate than love?" she asked. "Really, it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Shut it, Willow," Autumn threatened in a low, warning tone.

"But…"

"Willow!" This time it was Severus, and he found himself seriously considering a silencing spell on her if she didn't heed their advice soon.

Willow just shook her head and sighed. "You people are all so odd," she commented, breaking a muffin in half. The rest of the meal passed without mishap, and without anything worthy of note until, just as Molly was clearing away the dishes, a comment from the children's conversation slithered towards the other end of the table, lingering in the air.

"Hasn't this gone on long enough, Harry?" Hermione was asking. "When are you going to get over it?"

"He's the one who's always been an asshole to me, Hermione. Since the very first day in Potions, and he's had it out for me ever since, and all I ever did was have the nerve to look like my dad. If you want to talk to someone about changing, talk to him..." Harry trailed off, as though suddenly realizing how loudly he'd spoken. He closed his eyes and muttered something much less audible under his breath.

For a moment, silence reigned in the kitchen, and there was a palpable tension as everyone seemed to be waiting, collectively, for a war to begin at the breakfast table. After a pause, Severus folded his napkin and placed it aside, then pushed away from the table. "If you all will excuse me," he said, addressing the lot of them, and ignoring the way Autumn squeezed his hand. "Mr. Potter, I'd like a word with you in the drawing room."

Harry sighed, and with a tortured look at Ron, stood and walked stiffly from the kitchen, across the hall into the drawing room. Severus followed him and shut the door firmly, leaning against it for a moment, studying Harry quietly.

"Sir, I—" Harry began, but Severus held up a hand.

"Silence, Potter. Do not speak." Folding his arms, Severus circled the Gryffindor slowly, and then came to a halt in front of him again. "Sit," he commanded, pointing at the sofa. Harry sat on one end. After a moment, Severus joined him on the other end. "You asked me last week about my childhood," he said softly, ignoring the way Harry's eyes widened suddenly. "Do you still wish to know?"

Harry nodded slowly.

"Then what I am about to tell you will remain in the strictest confidence, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, staring at him as though he were a foreign being. And perhaps he was. God alone knew what was prompting him to be talking to Harry now, but whatever it was, it gave him the strength to begin the story, one which, hopefully, would open a door to a little less hostility between them. And that was all Severus was interested in—a little less hostility. He did not want to be a surrogate father, or a friend, or a mentor, or even a 'trusted adult'. He simply wanted a cease in their animosity.

"Very well," he said softly. "I grew up in a flat in Muggle London, an unexpected, unwanted, unpleasant surprise to parents who were barely older than you…"


End file.
